Return of Saturn
by rogue76
Summary: This is my take on what happens after the events of the season 1 finale. After they left us hanging like that...I just HAD to write this. The title refers to the time in your life when the planet Saturn returns to the degree in its orbit occupied at the time of your birth, a harbinger to a new phase of your life. In this case, Abbie's and her relationship with Ichabod.
1. Chapter 1 -- One Last Flicker

Ichabod opened his eyes slowly, the intense pounding in his head making him wary of what he would encounter, but there was nothing to see save darkness. The smell of pungent dark earth filled his nose. The last thing he remembered, he had been thrown into an unmarked grave by Henry Parrish, his erstwhile son, Jeremy. He could still see the cold, dead look on his son's face as he threw him into the coffin, saying only, "Goodbye, Father."

Ichabod took a shaky breath, trying to keep his horror at bay. The vines that snaked around his legs and torso did not allow him much movement. He could not even reach into his coat pocket to retrieve Miss Mills' "smartphone" and use it to call for aid. He was well and truly trapped; a prisoner. The absolute misery and hopelessness of his situation overcame him then and pure panic set his heart pounding. He struggled for a while, screaming for help and trying to kick the box apart, but eventually, his voice hoarse and his lungs screaming for air, he quieted. Tears of frustration had dried on his face and he realized that he had expended a great deal of energy and gotten exactly nowhere. It was much more logical to conserve his energy and wait for rescue, if he could only wrest control from his fear.

However, as he lay there, trying to keep his hysteria in check, he noticed the air around him began to feel thick and dense and soon after, it was much harder to pull it into his lungs. Its damp, cloying smell made him nauseous and he found it hard to swallow. Instantly, Ichabod knew what was happening and that even if someone miraculously ever found him, they would likely not arrive in time. He was too weak and the air too thin.

_This is how I will die_, he thought. _I survived 250 years underground without incident only to be buried alive in 2013._

Surely, the earth was pressing down upon the pine coffin, snuffing the air out as easily as one might blow out a candle. Momentarily, he considered one last assault on the box, but in the end, he decided against it. He was fighting against too much: the strength of the box itself and the hundreds of pounds of soil above him. Only Atlas himself would have been able to lift such a burden.

Ichabod turned his head to the left and sighed. He was done fighting. As he had told Miss Mills not long ago, he had fit more living into his life than any one man deserved. He was ready for his eternal rest and would rather go to it peacefully and with some dignity instead of railing against the inevitable.

"_'__Tomorrow do thy worst, for I have lived today_,'" he said softly, reciting a line from one of his father's favorite poems. His voice hitched slightly at the end, but otherwise he was able to maintain his composure.

As he lay there, his breathing growing more and more labored, he could not stop Miss Mill's beautiful face from entering his mind. Indeed, she was always in his mind in some way; if not at the forefront then drifting about in the shadows, ever his companion. Were it not for her, he would have never been able to navigate this strange new world he had found himself inhabiting. He would have been lost and most likely thought truly insane. A fresh tear slipped down his cheek at the thought of her and he felt his heart seize, cracking like an eggshell. He had promised her he would come back for her, and now, due to his foolishness at not recognizing Henry for who he truly was and his selfish desire to rescue Katrina, he had condemned Miss Mills to eternity in Purgatory. He hated himself for it. The taste of it was bitter in his mouth and burned his throat.

Ichabod closed his eyes, more tears streaming down his face. "I beg your forgiveness, Miss Mills," he said, his voice broken. "I did not expect us to be so soon parted and will forever miss your company, for I hold it quite dear. If I had the ability, I would do everything in my power to set you free from your torment, damn the consequences to me."

His pronouncement finished, he silently begged God to somehow keep her safe in Purgatory, but knew it was a useless prayer. How could she ever be safe with Moloch? He had wanted her soul all this time and now he had it. Ichabod knew Moloch would never release her willingly.

"I do not deserve eternal…rest in the elysian fields of heaven," he said sadly, barely able to get the words out due to the lack of air. "Not when I have committed…such a sin against…my partner. I am ready…to accept my judgment."

He couldn't prevent himself from wishing that he would be sent to Purgatory for his sins and perhaps he would be able to find the Lieutenant. Perchance they would be allowed to be together. Spending eternity in Purgatory with her was preferable to living with the idea that he had betrayed her trust.

His breath ragged, he took one last sip of air then allowed himself to sink into the blackness and felt it rise up to overtake him. Miss Mill's sweet face was his only escort as he was swallowed up by the abyss of death.

For what seemed like a long time, he just floated in that obsidian nothingness like a feather in the wind – only there was no wind; there was nothing. No other thoughts passed through his mind, no fears or worries or hopes or dreams. There was a keen absence of anything of any import and in an odd way, he found it peaceful.

Ichabod wasn't sure when his heart stopped beating for he felt no pain of any kind. In truth, he felt nothing. He could no longer feel the coffin pressing in on him or the vines that held his body prisoner. The pressure of hundreds of pounds of earth above him was gone. He had the odd sense that his body, or perhaps his soul, had somehow escaped – slipped through the cracks – and was far away from that wretched little coffin.

He drifted that way for he knew not how long because time ceased to have any meaning to him. But eventually, he became aware again of the sensation of having a body – of being IN a body. And he was certain that body was lying on the ground; not in the coffin, but on the actual ground. He could feel the damp ground pressing into his clothes. It was a strange feeling, because for so long he had sworn he had been almost bodiless and to be thrust back into his physical form was a bit painful and almost unwanted.

Soon after, Ichabod noted that he could breathe fully and deeply. There was no pressure on his lungs any longer, nothing but ease of movement, although the air did seem to possess a strange quality. Ichabod couldn't quite place it, but he knew he had smelled it in the past.

Realizing that he now most likely had eyes again with which to see, Ichabod opened them slowly, looking around. The blackness receded like the tide and he found his vision was blurry. Ichabod rolled over onto his stomach and pushed himself slowly and unsteadily to his feet, rubbing his eyes gingerly. The first thing he could make out was a dark forest surrounding him. It was filled with foreboding mists and gloomy moans and cries. Sadly, this was familiar. It was the same forest he had found Miss Mills in after both of them had passed Purgatory's tests of faith and loyalty. A vile place, it was; full of tortured souls in various states of disrepair. Some were disabled, missing different limbs or afflicted with ghastly wounds. Others were dragging huge chains or keys or weights around after them. But the worst of the lot were the ones mired in the very ground of Purgatory itself, stepped over and around and on by all the others. These were the truly forgotten, the forsaken and the lost and their faces showed their awful pain as they cried out for relief. Ichabod looked at them with pity, for he knew that what they were really craving was to be remembered and it was the one thing they would be forever denied. That was their punishment.

The thought of Miss Mills staying in this place for one more moment chilled him to the bone and turned his stomach upside-down, for she had done nothing for which to be punished. Instead, she had chosen to remain here; sacrificed herself on the altar of her distrust of him under the guise of saving humanity. He had not acknowledged it at the time, but he knew that she had offered to stay in Purgatory because she was afraid it was the decision _he_ would have made even though he had promised her otherwise. What scared him was that, given the chance, he was not sure what choice he would have made, and that made him hate himself. Miss Mills was his fellow Witness, but Katrina was his wife. Was his duty not to her? But then, what was his duty to Miss Mills? God had set them on this journey together. Did not God's heavenly edict take precedence over any vow that a mere mortal could make?

Ichabod found his feelings too confused and entangled to find his way to the correct path at that moment. All he knew was that he had to find the Lieutenant and if he _had_ died, then perhaps he could take her place and send her back to the world of the living where she belonged. He should never have let her remain here in the first place. It had been immensely selfish of him and Ichabod was unsure how he would ever be able to make things right with her again, but at that moment he vowed to spend eternity trying.

A terrible scream pierced his thoughts and he wheeled around to his right; certain that was the direction from which it had come. That scream had been full of terror and he could have sworn it was Miss Mills who had made that sound.

"Miss Mills!" he shouted into the inky darkness of Purgatory's forest. "Are you here?"

Ichabod received no reply and decided there was nothing he could do but go in the direction of the noise. He began walking, careful to avoid the other denizens of this place and tried to pass by as unnoticed as was possible. The strange yet familiar scent of this placed wafted to him again, but still he could not place it, despite his unfaltering recall. It was like a dream, close to his fingertips yet ever elusive.

Another scream cut through the murk and Ichabod was now positive that it _was_ the Lieutenant. He broke into a run, his heart banging against his ribs. But the instant his legs stretched out into full stride, he was freefalling and then hit dead in the face with something so hard that he was momentarily stunned and dazed. Ichabod saw stars before his eyes and shut them quickly, trying to blot out the pain that had bloomed in his head.

When he regained control of his faculties, he realized that somehow, he was no longer standing but lying face down on the floor; not the ground of the forest, but the floor of a house. Opening his eyes, Ichabod turned his head to the right and saw a cream wall with words scrawled on it in blood-red: DON'T GET SCARED.

The next thing his eyes focused on were blue curtains billowing against the wall, only something was wrong, for the curtains were drawn ON the wall, not actual cloth hanging from rods. Ichabod almost felt as though he were in a story book he had read as a child.

This whole place felt all wrong to him and he stumbled to his feet, swaying when he got there, his head pounding a steady rhythm. Everywhere he looked, he saw only shadows and loneliness; despair seemed to hang in the air the way adornments should have. The hair on the back of his neck went up and he knew only that this house was not a refuge of any kind. It felt more like a prison. What _was_ this place?

Suddenly, a huge bang resounded through the house like an echo through a canyon and he flinched; looking for cover of any kind. Instinct told him to make himself as small as possible and hide. Before he had time to find a spot, a voice that he only heard in his nightmare visions filled the emptiness of the sad house.

"YOU WILL BE MINE AGAIN! Yield to me now and I will show mercy!"

Moloch.

Ichabod could tell that his voice was coming from the other room. Moloch was not talking to him, but someone else. He moved to the wall and pressed himself against it, inching along slowly. He was almost to the doorway when he heard the voice he had been afraid he never would again.

"I was NEVER yours."

Miss Mills. Her voice was quiet and lacked the booming resonance of Moloch's, however it was resolute and determined, though laced with melancholy. Ichabod peeked around the corner and thought his heart would stop at what he saw. Moloch was holding the Lieutenant frighteningly high above him, his claws cutting right through her leather jacket and into her shoulder. Rivulets of blood coursed a path down her arm, dripping onto the ground, sizzling with each drop. Ichabod was filled with such dread for her that he became very dizzy and barely stopped himself from calling out to her. He wanted to run to her aid, but somehow he knew that he had to remain hidden. If Moloch knew that the two Witnesses had been reunited, he would never allow them to find a way out.

"Resign your soul to me and I will give you what you most desire."

Moloch's voice was not as loud or frightening as before, but somehow, the sereneness of it made it even more threatening.

Miss Mills looked down at his blurry yet massive form and she did not seem to be afraid, though her eyes were red and her face ghastly pale. A single tear slipped down her cheek.

"Even _you_ cannot do that, Moloch," she said sadly, seemingly unaffected by the pain in her shoulder. It appeared to Ichabod that there was an emotional pain that was eclipsing all else. "I know my destiny: to be alone. I've finally accepted it. Have you accepted yours?"

Moloch shrieked, and in a rage flung her across the room as easily as one might throw a ragdoll. She crashed into the wall with a sickening thud and crumpled into a heap on the floor, unmoving.

Ichabod could barely stop himself from running to her, but knew he could not do so while Moloch was still there. The demon could not know that Ichabod had returned to Purgatory, or all hope of rescue and escape would be lost.

Moloch turned slowly to face Miss Mills' prostrate form and took two loud, crackling steps towards her, his horns aimed low, and for a sickening instant, Ichabod was certain he was about to charge her. His blurred form flickered in and out of sight, and he was apparently unconcerned with her motionless state.

"You shall _never_ know my mercy," he said softly, the gentle tone of his voice disturbing and out of place. Ichabod knew he meant it to be a threat, but it sounded more like the pronouncement of a sentence; a promise of things to come.

Then with one last flicker, he was gone.


	2. Chapter 2 -- Why Are You Here?

Ichabod wasted not one moment and sprinted to Miss Mills' side, chest heaving, heart stricken with intense worry. Gently, he turned her over onto her back and was dismayed at the sight of her. She had only been in Purgatory for a few hours, but if he hadn't known better, he would have sworn on his life that it had been weeks. Her cheeks were gaunt and hollow and her skin was terribly pale. Her shoulder had a deep gash that was still bleeding and she had a nasty bruise on her left temple, most likely from hitting the wall, but upon closer inspection, Ichabod found older bruises on her arms, as well. Her upper lip was chapped and scabbed over and the bottom one was split open anew.

"Lieutenant…please awaken," he said softly, pushing her hair away from her face. He looked around for something to use to put pressure on her wound but there was nothing. In the end, he could only use his hand to try and staunch the flow of blood. He pulled her closer to him gently, cradling her in his lap, and noticed that she seemed thinner. It didn't seem possible and yet, Ichabod was certain that she had lost weight since he had left her here hours before. He cursed himself for the hundredth time for what his choice – or inability to make a choice – had done to her.

A pained moan slipped from between her lips and she brought her hand up to her head gingerly. "That…hurt," she said slowly.

"Miss Mills, are you gravely injured?" he asked, gently pulling her hand away from the dreadful bruise on her temple while trying to maintain the pressure on her shoulder.

She froze at his words and looked up at him, eyes wide. Ichabod held still as she stared at him, into the very depths of his soul, it seemed. The longer she looked but said nothing, the more he started to entertain the notion that all of this was a dream. In the time he had known Miss Mills, he had never known her to be silent for so long. He was about to say something, when he noticed that she had begun shaking – shaking all over. Tears welled in her brown, red-rimmed eyes but did not fall.

"Lieutenant…"

In mere seconds, she had scurried away from him and was apparently trying to melt into the wall, shaking still. Ichabod knew she had to be feeling the discomfort of her injuries now, for she had not tried to stand and get away from him. He tried again.

"Miss Mills, please listen to me. I am here to help—"

"YOU don't get to talk!" she hissed, cutting him off, her voice low and dangerous. "YOU are not…_him_," she accused, her words breaking off as a sob escaped in a rush. Still shaking, she looked past him, her eyes scanning feverishly about the room. At long last, her gaze rested on him, once again, but it was one of dismissal and disgust. "You can't trick me, Moloch."

Ichabod was suddenly nauseous. She believed him to be Moloch – some phantom vision concocted by the demon? What dreadful things had Moloch been doing to her while he was gone? Had Moloch been using Ichabod's countenance to try and seduce the Lieutenant into handing over her soul? The thought chilled him to the bone.

"Lieutenant, your shoulder has been injured. You are bleeding. Take a few moments to collect yourself and you will see the truth."

She looked down at her shoulder and grimaced as she tried to move it. "Dammit," she breathed, the curse slipping from her lips angrily. She brought her hand up to cover the wound and looked away from him, off to the left, her brow furrowed. "Girls!" she shouted, her voice high and reedy, close to the edge of hysteria. Her body had not stopped shaking and he could not tell if it was from cold or fear or pain or some other reason altogether. "Girls, you can come out now!"

"I'm right here! Who are you bloody talking to?" Ichabod bellowed, his patience having withered away. She was bleeding profusely.

Abbie flinched and moved even further away, eyeing him as though he were a rabid animal.

Frustrated that she still did not see him for who he truly was – did not trust him – Ichabod reached his hand out to her. She looked at it suspiciously. In truth, what had he been expecting? He had allowed her to take Katrina's place and abandoned her in Purgatory to battle Moloch alone. Did he really believe she would smile and laugh and tell him all was well?

"Miss Mills, _please_ believe me. It IS me. Please let me help you."

He hoped his simple plea would somehow reach her for he was at a loss as to how else he could persuade her.

She looked at him, her head crooking sideways, and he could tell that she was fighting a war against herself. Her shaking had not abated and now it intensified and the tears that had not fallen before spilled onto her cheeks. "Please, girls," she half-whispered, half-sobbed. "I need your help."

Ichabod felt so sorry for Miss Mills in that moment. What had happened in the few hours he had been gone that had erased all of her trust in him? Except, of course, for the small matter of him leaving her in Purgatory to fend for herself while he took his wife back to the mortal world?

He was about to try and talk to her again, when he noticed that Miss Mills' gaze was now directed at a point beyond him. She sighed. "There you are," she said, the relief in her voice apparent. "Jenny, can you find me something to hold against this?" she asked, pointing to her shoulder.

Ichabod snapped his head around in the direction she was looking the moment he heard her say Miss Jenny's name. How in the world could Jenny also be in Purgatory?

However, all he saw was a young girl dressed in what he could only imagine was a school uniform of some kind: white shirt under a grey sweater, tartan skirt, and black shoes. The whole attire seemed familiar to Ichabod, though he knew not why, but he knew he SHOULD know. His eidetic memory gave him no excuses. He turned back to Miss Mills, whose shaking seemed to have abated in some small measure.

"Miss Mills, why have you called this young girl by your sister's name?"

And then it hit him: he had seen that young girl before! In the Lieutenant's dream vision when she had battled the Sandman. This girl was the younger version of Miss Jenny. But how and why was she here, in Purgatory? If she was here, where was the current form of Miss Mills' sister? The girl stared at him with eyes as wide as a doe that had stumbled upon a hunter and stood frozen in place.

"Come on, Jenny, it's okay. Come here." The Lieutenant's voice was unsteady and raspy and Ichabod knew it had to be from the pain of her wound.

Ichabod watched as Jenny swallowed hard and then took a step forward. He immediately put his hands up, trying to seem as harmless as possible. She raced past him and over to the Lieutenant, kneeling down next to her. Jenny produced a piece of cloth from her pocket and held it on Abbie's shoulder.

"Push hard," Miss Mills instructed through gritted teeth. Jenny did so, and Abbie cried out, squeezing her eyes shut.

Ichabod was on his feet in an instant and scrambled over to them, his eyes wild with worry. The Lieutenant's eyes snapped open and her look was one of blatant hatred. Jenny's eyes went wide and he could tell she wanted to bolt, but something kept her tethered to Abbie's side.

"Get the hell away from us, you bastard," she seethed. "You think that just cause you look like…_him_…that I'm just gonna hand over my soul? Aren't you tired of that game already? Why don't you just finish me off instead? You had your chance before and you didn't take it…I wish you had."

Ichabod's eyes softened and he sank slowly to the ground. He reached out his hand again, palm up, this time. "Please believe me, Miss Mills. I am not Moloch, though I deserve your contempt as much as he for what I have done. But at this moment, I only wish to help you."

Abbie ignored his hand and looked at him – really looked at him, this time – and he thought that he might have gotten through a chink in her armor. Her breathing began to quicken. "Ok, I'll play along. If you're really Crane, what did I bring you the first morning at the motel?"

Ichabod let his hand fall to his side. He knew this would be his only chance to convince her of his true character. He had to get everything right – say just things perfectly. "They were a lovely pastry that I believe you called 'donut holes.'"

Abbie nodded but did not seem totally convinced. Beside her, Jenny watched her reactions carefully and Ichabod knew that Abbie's verdict on his identity would be Jenny's, as well. With effort and using her good arm, the Lieutenant pushed herself up into a more upright position and chewed on her bottom lip.

"Okay, last question. This'll be your only chance to claim your 'get out of jail free' card. Ready? What did you do…after you burned the map to Purgatory?"

Ichabod swallowed dryly. Why had she chosen that particular memory to test him? Was it because she somehow knew it was the only time he had not been totally forthcoming with her? At the time, he had meant every word he said to Miss Mills about forging their fates together, but later, in his lonely cabin, the thought of Katrina trapped forever in Purgatory and the guilt he felt for her being there had overwhelmed him.

He sighed bitterly and looked into her eyes. What he saw there was an odd mixture of pain and hope. He knew the answer, but he wished he could explain to her the nature of the impetus behind his actions. In the end, he simply said the words.

"I drew another."

Those words seemed to hang in the air like a dark thundercloud ripe with lightning waiting to strike. He had not meant to betray her – would never betray her – and yet he had. The force of that realization hit him hard; a sucker-punch in the midsection. Ichabod's only thought was to try and apologize for what he had done; how he had forsaken her.

"Miss Mills, please accept my apologies-"

"It's really you?" Abbie cut him off, letting out a breath he hadn't realized she had been holding. Her voice was small and wounded, but her gaze was not as hard as before.

Ichabod nodded and reached his hand out one last time, rising to one knee. "It is. Now will you please allow me to help you tend to your wound?"

But a third time, Abbie ignored his proffered hand and turned to look at the younger Jenny and attempted a small smile. She put her right hand on the girl's shoulder. "It's okay, Jenny. It's really him. I'm sure of it. Moloch would never have admitted that last part. Go and get your sister. It's safe."

Ichabod winced at her words and what they implied and his open hand clenched into a fist. He had hurt her very deeply, and some part of him had known it when he did it, but that hadn't seemed as important as rescuing Katrina at the time. But now…here…in Purgatory, with Miss Mills bloody and wounded before him, he could not imagine a moment when hurting her would be of no consequence to him.

Jenny said nothing. She merely nodded and handed the cloth she had been using as a compress to Abbie and slinked past Ichabod as quickly as she could, disappearing into the shadows of the house. Ichabod watched her go and rose to his feet. There were a thousand queries in his mind, but he did not voice them. He turned back to Abbie and saw that she was holding the cloth against her shoulder wound, her eyes shut tight in pain. Sweat dotted her forehead and she was shaking again, and this time, he was certain that agony was the cause, but if pressed, he would not have been able to determine with absolute certainty if its nature was merely physical.

"Lieutenant, may I please assist you? You must be suffering."

Abbie's eyes opened slowly and he noted they were a bit glazed. She was slumped against the wall and reminded him of a cut rose, wilting in front of his eyes. "I can take care of myself, Crane. Been doing it my whole life," she said.

Though he knew she said it to sound brave and nonchalant, Ichabod found it to be one of the saddest things he'd ever heard. He hated that she felt her existence was so solitary, but wasn't that what she had told Moloch earlier? Had she not said that she had finally accepted that her destiny was to be alone? And had she not stated that even Moloch could not give her that which she truly desired? Ichabod wondered what that something was.

He crossed the small distance between them and knelt beside her and knew he would give his last breath to change her destiny. She said nothing, simply looked up at him with huge eyes filled to overflowing with a myriad of questions:

_Why did you leave me here?_

_Why did you choose Katrina over me?_

_How could you betray me?_

The last question he imagined she was asking hurt the most, because he did not have an answer for it. He touched her cheek gently and she stilled instantly, like a wild thing would.

"I am so very sorry, Miss Mills," he said softly. "I should never have allowed you to remain here. I have cursed myself a thousand times over for doing so."

She broke their gaze and looked off into the dark recesses of the house and shrugged. "It's done now. Besides, you didn't make the choice. I did."

Ichabod was a bit stunned by the sudden and severe change in her personality and temperament. Her usually bright spirit was dulled and broken and her eyes had lost their spark. The words she spoke were short and clipped and held no emotion. He had only ever known her to be bursting with life and her voice full of honesty and fervor. Surely this was a symptom of being in Purgatory? He could not bear the thought that she was forever changed due to his own selfish actions.

Inching closer to her, Ichabod tentatively reached out and covered the hand that was over her wound with his own. Her eyes snapped back to him the moment she felt the contact and she reached up to move his hand away.

"Please, Lieutenant. I only want to help you," he said, his voice supple and smooth with sincerity. "Let me do this small thing for you."

Her eyes filled abruptly with tears, her bottom lip trembling, but she did not push his hand away again. Instead, she sat still and allowed him to hold the cloth against her shoulder wound. He noted that the bleeding had slowed in some measure and for that, he was thankful.

"Why are you here, Crane? You're not supposed to be here."

Her words cut through the inky silence of the doll house, echoing down its lonely halls. Ichabod looked at her, thinking he had never met a braver woman in his entire life. Here she was, trapped in Purgatory, and she was worried about his safety.

"I am not certain as to how I came to be here," he finally said, unwilling to tell her about the coffin and Jeremy.

She looked at him sideways and was about to say something else when another voice stopped her.

"She was hiding again."

Ichabod looked to where the voice was coming from and was not surprised to see that Jenny had returned. However, what he was surprised to see was the girl beside her. They were holding hands, and he got the distinct impression that Jenny was holding her there; keeping her from running. She was dressed in the same school uniform, but was slightly shorter. Her face was tight with fear, eyes wide.

_Abbie._

Ichabod knew that this was the young Abbie they had also encountered in their fight against the Sandman. The Abbie whose entire existence was ruled by fear and so it made sense that she had been hiding.

"What were you hiding from?" the Lieutenant asked the young girl.

"Moloch," Young Abbie answered and then pointed right at Ichabod, her hand shaking. "And him."

"Moloch's gone for now, Abbie. Besides, he wants me, not you. You're just a memory." Miss Mills then looked from her younger self to Ichabod and snickered. "And don't worry about this one. He won't hurt you. Besides, he won't be staying long. I don't even know why he's here to begin with…"

She trailed off and Ichabod could see her mind working; puzzling out the problem. The girls had not moved from their spot. They seemed to be waiting for direction from Miss Mills. Ichabod did not want her to discover the reason for his appearance. It would only upset her and he wished to never hurt her again.

"I believe your wound has stopped bleeding," he said, hoping to distract her.

Abbie shook her head and held her hand up, effectively stopping him from saying anything else. "Wait a minute, why ARE you here? How did you get here?"

He refused to look at her. "I've already told you that I have no memory of how I came to be here."

"Mr. Photographic Memory can't remember? I don't think so, Crane. Did Katrina somehow send you here?"

He shook his head. "The how and why are not important, Lieutenant. What matters is that I AM here and you are no longer alone and I will not allow Moloch to hurt you again."

Abbie frowned and then did push his hand away from her shoulder and managed to get to her feet, swaying a bit. She put her good arm against the wall for support, her breathing a bit labored. "No it IS important, Crane. You weren't supposed to come back. I knew that when I said I'd stay. So why are you here? There's got to be a reason."

Ichabod was shocked. "You did not believe I would return for you?"

Abbie looked at him with a confused expression. "Of course not."

Ichabod felt like his heart was being squeezed in a woodworker's vice. She truly never believed he would come back for her? "But Miss Mills, you told me that you knew I would return for you. You were being dishonest?"

She rolled her eyes. "Come on, Crane. How _could_ you return? Katrina and I exchanged places. The only way I was going back was if she came back here. I knew you'd never let that happen."

The Lieutenant looked away from him, absently holding her wounded shoulder. "She's your wife and you love her. I'm just the cop who sprung you from the mental hospital. Pretty easy choice to make, right?"

Ichabod regarded her then, this woman who would have been totally overlooked and disregarded in his time. A brave soldier who soldiered on and tried to help everyone she met, despite all the pain she had suffered in her life. An amazing spirit who was able to look past the insanity of his story and find the real man behind it and give him the opportunity to prove his irrational claims. How had he treated such a rare being? He had abandoned her for his own selfish reasons with barely a second thought and now he would give his very soul to take that decision back.

He swallowed his agony and was about to try and convince her of the truth of their relationship when she nodded, apparently taking his silence for agreement.

"That's what I thought," she said, looking slightly surprised that he had agreed with her, but she recovered quickly. "So I'm gonna ask you again: why are you here?"


	3. Chapter 3 -- Sweetest, Yet Saddest

Before he could answer, the girls stepped forward in unison and motioned for Abbie to come closer to them. Abbie did so slowly, her gait wobbly and unsure. Ichabod watched as they both leaned up on their tiptoes, their mouths close to her ear, and spoke in hushed tones. The longer they whispered, the bigger Abbie's eyes got and he saw her breathing quicken. At one point, she gasped and covered her mouth with her hand.

Finally, when the girls were done, Miss Mills took a shuddering breath. "There's got to be something I can do?" she asked them.

They were silent for a few moments and then began speaking again, but their voices were too low for Ichabod to make out anything they were saying.

When they finally finished, Abbie nodded, her face solemn. "I understand," she said softly.

She turned back to Ichabod. "So…I missed some crucial plot points, huh?"

Ichabod did not understand her meaning and thought it best to remain silent.

She sighed, obviously exasperated with him. "Look, I know about Jeremy…and the coffin. Weren't planning on telling me, were you?"

He stepped closer to her; close enough to touch. "No because it is of no consequence now, Miss Mills. I am dead. But at least we are here together. I can stand with you against Moloch."

Abbie straightened her posture and drew herself up as tall as she could. She leaned in close to him and he felt something awaken between them. It was their connection; their bond. It had sprung to life not long after they had met and it seemed that even in Purgatory where Death had reign, it still lived.

"You're not dead, Ichabod. Not yet," she said, her voice calm and even with certainty. "The girls told me how I can help you. Give you a boost in a way."

Ichabod was confused as to her meaning and had no idea how she thought she could save him when he had already died.

"Miss Mills, I hesitated to tell you this for fear of upsetting you, but I AM dead. The earth above the coffin was too heavy and I remember it pressing down on me. I remember not being able to breathe and giving in to the darkness."

She crossed her arms; the picture of defiance. "I don't care what you remember. You're not dead; end of story. The girls told me so."

"Did you not call those…apparitions 'memories'? What would they know of life and death?" he asked.

Abbie turned and looked back at the girls and shrugged. "They might have started off as just memories, but they're something more now. They know things and I trust what they've told me."

Ichabod sighed and clasped his hands behind his back. "And pray tell, what did they tell you?"

"They told me that you are CLOSE to death, but not dead and that there is a way for me to give you some more time to last until you are found. If there's a chance of it working, I've got to try, Crane. One of us has to get out of here and beat Moloch."

He moved a step closer to her, his blue eyes solemn. "Miss Mills, if it means you must stay here, then I would rather die and remain with you. You are here because of my selfish actions."

She looked up at him, a sad ghost of a smile on her lips. "Crane, my whole life I felt like life was pointless; that MY life was pointless. What was I living for? Why were Jenny and I born into a family that couldn't care for us? Why did our father run off? Why were we given a mother whose mind was too wrecked to let her be a mother to us? Then Moloch happened and nothing made sense anymore. But for the first time, Crane, I feel like I know the purpose of my life. When we first realized we were Witnesses, I thought that was my purpose. But I was wrong…"

Ichabod reached out and took her hand gently, wary of her injured shoulder. His eyes were shining with tears, "Miss Mills, surely you don't believe your purpose is to die? To forfeit your life?"

Abbie smiled softly and took a step towards him, allowing her hand to stay in his. She was now close enough that Ichabod could have reached out and pulled her into an embrace - if he had the courage. He could feel that special something crackling between them – even here, in Purgatory – like the embers of a fire. He felt a sweet nervousness flutter to life in his stomach; a thousand butterflies taking off at once. Of all the times he had been in battle and faced dangerous opponents, nothing scared him as much as this seemingly diminutive and devastatingly beautiful woman before him. She was so unlike any woman he had ever met and though they had only known each other for a short time, he could no longer imagine his life without her beside him.

"Ichabod, I don't see it as a forfeit," she said, her use of his first name alerting him to the fact that she felt that what she was saying was extremely important. "Forfeit implies a penalty or punishment. That's not what's going on here." She reached up and touched his cheek gently, her other hand still holding his. "I can't let you die. It's not gonna happen, not if I can help it. You have too much to do."

Ichabod felt mesmerized by her touch; trapped like a bird in a net. He could not have looked away from her eyes even if he had wanted to do so. He was certain he could drown in their chocolate brown depths forever and never miss another breath of air. Her very essence pulled at him the way the shore pulls the tide in each evening, and he was just as powerless as those frothywaves.

No other woman had ever had such an effect on him; not even Katrina. And if he was honest with himself, at this very moment, he could not fathom how the two of them had ended up in this predicament. How could he have abandoned Miss Mills here in this place that was a hair's breadth away from Heaven yet halfway to Hell without even looking back?

At the time, it had been so easy to allow Katrina and Miss Mills to exchange places on the off-chance that everything would be able to be righted in the end. He had pushed anything and everything he felt for the Lieutenant down into the dark recesses of his soul and walked away from her, because he finally had been reunited with Katrina. And that was all he had ever wanted, wasn't it? Was it not his duty as a husband to rescue his wife and give her a proper life? After all, she had been imprisoned in Purgatory for over two centuries. Surely any suffering that might befall him due to her rescue and his subsequent separation from Miss Mills was nothing compared to what Katrina had been through. He owed her his suffering – or so he had felt at the time. However, Miss Mills owed Katrina nothing, yet he had offered up hers alongside his. It seemed, they were always side by side in everything – even pain.

Ichabod closed his eyes in torment and cursed himself for being so oblivious to the workings of his own heart. But then his eyes snapped open, bright blue with resolve. He may have been unmindful of his feelings then, but he was unmindful no more. Everything with Katrina could be worked out at a later time. He had to find a way to convince the Lieutenant that this was not the correct course of action. Ichabod did not know if he could leave this place without her again.

"Miss Mills, I wish I could convince you of one truth: that I can accomplish nothing without you by my side." He did not add that he would be worthless without her or that he would otherwise feel incomplete.

Abbie's hand fell from his face and he felt as though he had been plunged into an icy river. He felt bereft without her touch; forsaken. She sat down at the plastic dollhouse's kitchen table and sighed, looking world-weary and so alone. He was shocked at the toll Purgatory had taken on her in such a short amount of time. He was almost certain that he could see the energy stolen from her as he stood there. The mere sight of her solitary silhouette made his heart seize in sorrow for her.

Although he was now aware that he had strong feelings for this unbelievably brave woman before him, he was not yet ready to make them known. His courage had suddenly deserted him; seemingly in the face of her own. So he focused on reminding her of the rules of the game.

"You are a Witness. Both Witnesses are needed to defeat Moloch. What will happen tomorrow when Moloch discovers I have become the lone soldier on the side of Good in this war?"

"'Tomorrow was made for _some_,' Crane," she said, sadness coloring her words for the first time. She ran her hands through her hair and rubbed her eyes. At long last, she looked up and gestured to the chair across from her.

"I fear I am at a loss as to your meaning, Miss Mills," he said, walking forward but opting to kneel before her, his hands clasped together, resting on her lap; the penitent worshiper. Moreover, the chair would have kept him too far away from her and Ichabod couldn't bear the thought at that moment. He was almost afraid that she would chastise him, telling him to get up, but she did not. Instead, she put her hands on his shoulders.

"It's from a song my mother used to listen to when I was young," she said gently. "It always made her cry and I never really understood why or what that song meant until now." She wiped an errant tear from her cheek and took a deep breath, seeming to fortify herself. "My meaning, Crane, was that not every soldier in every war gets to see the big victory. When the flag gets raised and everyone is cheering, there are lots of soldiers who fell on the battlefield and didn't make it to the end. But without them, that victory would not be possible. You should know what I'm talking about, because in an ironic twist...YOU were such a soldier."

Ichabod shook his head, his eyes blazing with anger. He reached up and took her hands from his shoulders, holding them tightly in his own. "No, Miss Mills! That shall not be you! I will not allow it. You will not be this war's celebrated martyr. You are my fellow Witness and I will not let you go so easily…not _again_."

He looked up to see if she had divined his meaning and by the fresh tear that ran down her cheek, he knew she had. The next thing he knew, she was in his arms, hugging him as though she would never see him again.

"I don't want you to feel bad about that, Crane," she whispered, her mouth against his ear. "You had no other choice but Katrina. I never expected you to choose me. I might have hoped for it, but I certainly didn't expect it. Now don't get me wrong. It still stung when you did it, but I knew it was coming; knew it from the second that Andy told me about the prophecy. I can't compete with Katrina. She's your soul mate; the love of your life. I'm just a Witness and somebody you've known for a little while. I think that's why I was so scared and upset and wanted you to destroy the map. I knew that when it came down to it, you would choose the person most important to you in the entire world. I was mad at first, but now I get it. I really do. She's your happily ever after. Besides, you needed her to try and stop War. You couldn't have known it was already too late."

Her words, meant to mollify, instead flayed his heart wide open and the pain of his mistake burned through him like a wildfire, leaving only ash and agony in its wake. He felt his own tears slipping down his cheeks and allowed himself the luxury of resting his head on her shoulder even though he did not deserve it. He could never remember feeling so safe in his entire life than when he was in her arms. How incredible that in Purgatory, he felt safe – simply because she was with him.

"It may be too late to stop Jeremy," he said finally, softly. "But it's not too late to save you, Miss Mills. I will rectify this situation and my error. As long as I am still breathing, I vow to do just that."

"That's where you're wrong, Crane," she said, stroking his head as if she were comforting a little boy.

Startled, he looked up at her. "Pardon?"

Abbie looked at him tenderly, but there was a fierce determination in her eyes. "It IS too late for me, but it's not too late to save YOU. Your soul is here with me right now, but your body is trapped in that pine box and I will not let you die. I just…can't."

She trailed off and he felt that she had stopped herself before she had stumbled headlong into some profound confession. Before he could ponder it further, she had collected herself enough to continue.

"Anyway, I'm gonna save you. That's MY vow. You can't save me if you're dead, can you? You can't defeat Moloch, either."

Ichabod pushed away and stood up, anger coloring his cheeks. "I cannot defeat Moloch without **you**!" _I am afraid I cannot live without you, either_, he added silently.

Abbie said nothing, but instead looked away and over at the younger memory-version of herself and Jenny and her breathing slowed; eyes faraway. Ichabod's gaze followed hers and he saw them sitting in the living room on the hard plastic couch, holding hands. Their school uniforms were pressed and perfect, but their eyes were haunted. He was certain he knew what Miss Mills saw when she looked at them: ghosts. They were the embodiment of the memories of what she and Miss Jenny had seen in the forest that day and how Moloch had besmirched their souls; marked them. Ichabod knew without a doubt that if she stayed here, this was her fate, as well: to become nothing more than a fractured image of a tortured memory that most would find better forgotten.

He looked back at Abbie and it seemed to him that she was already drifting away from him, pulled along by Purgatory's treacherous eddies; lulled into a dreamless sleep from which there is no awakening.

He walked back to her and grabbed both of her shoulders. "Miss Mills, please abandon this endeavor! It's as though I've lost you already!"

Abbie flinched and looked back to him, and her eyes were no longer glazed. She was back with him, it seemed; back from whatever dark place her soul had gone for those few moments. "It's okay, Crane. I'm still here," she said, patting him on the shoulder.

**_For now_**, was the unspoken addition to her statement and Ichabod swore he heard it whispered to him from Purgatory's cold shadows. He felt an icy chill skitter down his back and shivered. He looked around the dollhouse she seemed intent on making her new permanent residence and just the thought of her spending eternity trapped within its walls made him sick to his stomach. All for what purpose? For him? To keep him alive so he could be with Katrina? How did she think he could ever find happiness knowing what she had sacrificed for him to have the opportunity?

"You need to go," Abbie said, pulling him away from his thoughts. "Your time is running out. I only hope Jenny finds you in time."

Ichabod's brow crinkled. "Miss Jenny? How do you know-"

"I just _know _she'll find you, Crane," she said, cutting him off. "But you won't last if I don't help you – if I don't give you _my _strength."

"How do you even know that your plan will be successful?" he asked limply, feeling defeated.

Abbie hooked her thumb back towards the younger Jenny and Abbie. "_They_ told me about it. They said that if my intent is pure and I have no ulterior motive and I accept my fate of staying here, then I can give you all the mortal strength left in me. That should give you another few hours at least, maybe even 12, but…"

Crane bent down a bit to look in her eyes, brushing some hair away from her face. "There is a caveat?"

Abbie nodded, suddenly unable to look in his eyes. "Apparently, that strength is all that is tethering me to the mortal world. To life. Once I give it to you, I'll be cut loose."

"You'll die?!" Ichabod felt like someone had thrust a sword deep into his heart, and his breath left his lungs in a great rush. He was suddenly dizzy.

Abbie looked at him sideways, a sad smile on her face. She tried to laugh, but it came out as a sob. "I'm _already_ dead, Crane. This is Purgatory, not Cancun. I knew this was a one-way trip when I came to the island with you, because I knew you would choose Katrina. She was only able to leave here because I took her place. I knew you'd never let her go again, so there's no way for me to come back. This is it for me. Giving you my strength is just sealing the deal, you might say. At least this way, my life will have MEANT something. I'll no longer be the messed-up foster kid who let a demon ruin her life. I will have given my life for a greater cause and to keep you alive. That's all that matters to me."

Ichabod took a deep breath. "So are my wishes not to be taken into consideration, then?" His words were short and clipped but full of fury. "You have decided to give your life to save mine, which is very heroic and I am truly grateful, but just where does that set my fate? You are my fellow Witness. You were meant to weather the seven years of tribulation WITH me. I do not understand why you believed this to be a mission of suicide. I certainly never intended for you to stay in Purgatory."

"Crane—" Abbie started, but the wildfire that had burned through him earlier had been reignited by his anger and he could not be denied. He ranted on.

"And, pray tell, what will you provide me to help me survive the loss of your company? A flower to lay on your headstone? Your rallying final words? Your…memory?"

His voice broke on the last word and his gaze slipped away from her for a moment. He was unwilling to allow her to see him so weak with worry and misery at the thought of going on without her; of losing her. When he looked back, her eyes were soft and full of tears. He thought for a moment that he might have weakened her resolve, but then moments later, her eyes flashed and her granite wall was back in place.

"Ichabod, your wishes are exactly what I AM thinking about."

He looked at her, brow furrowed. When he spoke, his voice was soft, but there was an edge to it. "Would you care to enlighten me, please, how you believe that my wish is for you to die?"

She walked towards him again, and as soon as she was close enough to touch, he felt that mysterious attraction and he could not bring himself to move away, even though he was angry.

"Your _wish_ is to defeat Moloch and avert the apocalypse. Your _wish_, Ichabod, is to be reunited with Katrina and live your lives together – the destiny you were both robbed of so long ago. I truly understand that now. I guess I didn't before. So I can't stand in the way of that. All this time, all you've talked about is getting Katrina out of Purgatory. Well, she's out. She's back with you, Crane, and now this is your chance to get your happily ever after. She's the one you went to Purgatory for and faced a demon to save. Not me. I'm irrelevant."

Ichabod looked at her, his face a portrait of horror. "Miss Mills, there is folly in your logic. You do not-"

"I'm giving you that happily ever after," Abbie said, cutting him off mid-sentence by suddenly and shockingly pulling him down to press her lips to his in the sweetest, yet saddest kiss he had ever experienced.


	4. Chapter 4 -- Heart to Heart

Time seemed to stop altogether as their lips touched and he was sure he had never felt so connected to another human being in his strange and preternatural existence. He reached out and pulled her into his embrace, wrapping his arms around her tightly. She felt wonderful and perfect in his arms – as though he had been waiting his whole life to hold her. For a few moments, he allowed himself to be lost in the magic of their kiss and returned it. But then, the longer they kissed, the more certain Ichabod was that something else was happening between them. He could feel an energy passing from her to him that had nothing to do with emotions.

Or perhaps it had _everything_ to do with emotions. Hadn't Miss Mills mentioned something about her intentions needing to be pure if her foolish plan was to come to fruition? Instantly terrified, he pushed her away, then rubbed his fingers roughly across his lips, trying to erase what had taken place.

"What have you done?!" He was horrified that she was going to evaporate before his eyes.

But before Abbie could answer, her eyes rolled back in her head and she fell to the ground like a petal from a flower. Ichabod managed to get to her before her head hit and eased her gently down onto the floor, tears filling his vision.

"What have you done? What have you done?" he whispered, his words a shadow of their earlier fervor, dread choking his throat with an iron grip.

His hands fluttered over her face and body uselessly even as he could still feel remnants of that energy stinging his lips. He also felt different, effused with strength. Powerful. Briefly, he thought of kissing her again, in the hopes that it might return that life force back to her, but abandoned the idea almost at once. After all, his intentions would not be pure. They were selfish – saving her life. He pulled her up to cradle her in his arms and looked over at younger Jenny and Abbie.

"Help her!" he shouted, frantic. "Please, I beg you!"

They turned in unison to look at him, but did not move. In the end, it was Jenny who spoke. "She has made her choice. It cannot be altered."

Crane looked at them, eyes wide in complete terror. "She did not understand the choice she was given!" he screamed. When their faces remained impassive, he turned back to Abbie and stroked her cheek gently. Closing his eyes, he let his head rest against hers. "She did not understand…" he said faintly.

"I…did…"

Crane flinched and his eyes snapped open. He found himself staring into Abbie's beautiful brown eyes. "Miss Mills? Are you injured?"

Her mouth curved into a small smile and she blinked a few times, seemingly attempting to awaken herself more fully. She tried to move and then apparently realized she was being held in Ichabod's steely embrace. "Umm…Crane?"

He immediately released his hold on her and moved to help her to stand. He watched as she brought her hands to her head, rubbing her temples.

"I apologize, but I feared for your safety. You fell after we…ah, subsequent to our…" he faltered, too embarrassed to say the word.

Abbie stood on wobbly legs, reminding him oddly of a newborn fawn and moved one hand to his arm to steady herself. She looked up at him through her hair, and he swore he saw shyness in her eyes.

"After we kissed?" she finally asked, her voice uncharacteristically small and soft.

He wondered if the kiss had felt as magical and thrilling to her as it had to him. He did not voice his question. He fell into his familiar stance of a soldier at ease: hands clasped behind his back and only nodded briskly once, looking somewhere to the left of her face. "Correct."

"Sorry about that, Crane. It was the only way."

He wanted so much to tell her that she should never apologize for kissing him and he was now speculating if he would be able to make it through the rest of his life if it never happened again.

"The only way?" he repeated, saying none of what his heart wanted him to say. Then the realization of what she meant hit him and he felt his heart plummeting. He found the courage to look into her eyes and his fears from before came racing back. He knew what she was going to say.

She moved closer to him and took his hand tenderly, looking at him with nothing but happiness. For the life of him he could not seem to formulate a reason as to why she would be so happy.

"You have it now. You'll be okay. You'll last until Jenny finds you."

She leaned closer to hug him tightly for a few moments, but it was so fast that Ichabod didn't even have time to put his arms around her. Before he knew it, she had retreated and was looking off at Jenny and Abbie again.

"I can feel that it's gone. I feel different; lighter."

She seemed to be directing the statement towards them, but they did not reply.

Ichabod reached out and took her hand in his. She looked back to him, apparently surprised at the contact. "Abbie, please reverse what you have done," he said, daring to break with etiquette and use her first name. "_I am begging you_."

Her face crumpled a bit and he even thought she looked a bit offended. "I can't reverse it, Crane. And despite what you think, I did understand what I was doing – what I was choosing. I did it freely and honestly."

"But you have condemned yourself to Purgatory and this damnable dollhouse for all of eternity!" he roared. "And for what?!"

She looked at him, tears shining in her eyes and he felt the peculiar notion that she was memorizing his face. "For **_you_**," she said simply, stepping back from him, her hand slipping from his.

"But _why_?" he cried, his blue eyes wounded. The fear that she was forever tumbling away from him at a breakneck speed gripped him suddenly, and he felt nauseous. "We were supposed to stop Moloch together," he said, his voice softer, defeated. "Not for you to spend eternity languishing in this horrid place. We _promised_ each other."

"We _promised_ a lot of things," Abbie said, the hurt at his choice touching her words for the first time.

She let out a breath and walked over to the window. Outside laid Purgatory in its awful splendor. Tortured souls crying out in agony, lost in their own personal hell as time went on without their notice. Ichabod could not begin to imagine her lost in this place forever. His heart ached at the thought. He wasn't so distraught when Katrina was trapped here and he was beginning to think he knew why.

"Did I ever tell you about my grandmother?" Abbie asked suddenly, the previous venom leeched from her voice. She spoke as if they were meeting on a lazy Sunday afternoon and had all the time in the world. She looked to him, waiting for his reply.

Ichabod did not comprehend why she suddenly wished to reminisce about her grandmother, but he decided to indulge her. He shook his head; said nothing.

"I didn't get to see her much and there's not much about her I remember. But there is one thing she said that has stuck with me: take care of those you love." Abbie chuckled sadly. "Too bad my mom never took that one to heart."

Ichabod was about to say something to comfort her, but she spoke before he was able.

"Doesn't matter now, does it? Anyway, I believe that wholeheartedly. You take care of those you love and that's what I am doing. I'd do the same for Jenny."

He looked at her in a mixture of confusion and newborn hope and was unable to think of anything to say that would make any sense. For the first time in his life, it seemed, he was rendered speechless.

Abbie moved from the window back towards him and pulled him to her gently, reverently. Wrapping her arms around his waist, she nestled her head against his chest – near his heart – and took a deep breath. He felt as though she were preparing to say something. He imagined her lips pursed and brow furrowed; the way she looked when she was going to tell him something important.

"I know this won't really matter to you, Crane. Your heart belongs to somebody else – I get that and I respect it, but the truth is…I love you. It's as simple as that."

Ichabod felt his heart begin to beat double-time and thought it might burst from his chest. He made no move to return her embrace out of fear that she would run away from him if he tried. He felt as though shock had permeated his entire being. Abbie's declaration took him totally by surprise. He thought he had been alone in his newfound feelings.

"Miss Mills, I never dreamed that—"

"It's okay, Crane," she said. Surprisingly, she didn't move from where she was. He felt no anxiety emanating from her. No regret. "I know you don't feel the same. I'm just your partner. You love Katrina and that's how it is. That's why I'm doing this – so you can be with her - and it's why I know you'll be fine without me. Besides, even if you could have gotten me out of here by some miracle, I'm thinking Katrina is not big on being the third wheel anyway."

Confused as to her turn of phrase, he looked down at her, using his fingers to tip her chin up and force her to look into his eyes. "Third wheel?"

He noticed she could hardly hold his gaze. "There would have been no room for me if we all got out of here. You, Katrina and me down in the archives all fighting Moloch? I don't really see that working. That's how I know this is the right choice. It's like a big neon VACANCY sign pointing me to my destiny. It's better this way. Trust me. Besides, you'll be better off with a witch on your side instead of just a cop."

He took hold of her gently by her shoulders. "You are more than just an officer of the law."

She shrugged. "Okay, a Witness. Still…witch beats Witness every time."

He shook his head and finally put his arms around her slight frame. His eyes shifted into a warm cornflower blue. "You embody far more than a Witness…to _me_."

"Crane…" Abbie tried to pull away, but he wouldn't let her go.

"Miss Mills, earlier you intimated that I came to Purgatory to rescue my soul mate. However, I've recently come to grasp that the veracity of that statement is in question."

Abbie looked at him quizzically. She once again tried to pull back from him, but his arms were bands of steel around her. He was unwilling to let her get too far away. "Crane, I didn't understand one word of that."

He smiled and looked down at her, feeling the butterflies returning. He thought he would never tire of gazing at her face or feeling her in his arms and the very notion that this might be the last time he would do so made him certain that he had to confess his feelings now.

"Is it so hard to believe, Miss Mills?" he asked, finally. When she did not respond, he added, "I did not journey here to _rescue_ my soul mate. She came _with_ me."

Abbie stared at him for what felt like eons, her chocolate-brown eyes wide as saucers, lovely mouth agape. For a moment, Crane wondered if she had lapsed into some sort of catatonia and was about to shake her, when he saw a single tear make its way down her cheek. Then suddenly, she was kissing him again, and unbelievably, it was better than the first time, because there was no ulterior motive behind it. It was only the two of them, skin to skin, lost in the deep currents of their emotions.

Ichabod wrapped his arms as tight around her as he could until it seemed that she were melting into him and they were one body, one soul, one consciousness. Two Witnesses melded into one formidable shield against humanity. In their current state, he felt that Moloch's powers were infinitesimal compared to the strength they could wield when united in their love for one another.

At long last, Abbie broke from him, and he almost cried out at the loss. He took her hand, refusing to let her get very far from him, unable to endure it.

"Ichabod, I'll always be right _here_," she said, laying her other hand reverently on his chest; over his heart. Tears were streaming down her cheeks, unheeded, and her eyes sparkled with them; stars hovering in the cosmos of her stunning face. "Nothing can take me away from you, you hear me? Not Moloch or Purgatory and not time. We're forever."

For the first time in his life, Ichabod felt a sob working its way up from the depths of his soul. He let go of Abbie and covered his face with his hands, his whole body shaking.

"This is unbearable!" he shrieked, looking up at her, eyes wild. "I will not leave you here again! Especially not when we've just become aware of how we feel for each other. This cannot be the culmination of our relationship..." He ended his tirade in a whimper and pulled her close again.

Abbie reached up on tip-toe and kissed his stubbly cheek, tasting his tears. Her hand cradled his other cheek, her thumb stroking his lips.

"It has to be," she said, her voice breaking. "This is where our story ends, Ichabod. But not yours. You have to go on because we can't let Moloch win. He's already gotten me. He can't win the war."

Ichabod took a shaky breath, tenderly pushing some of her hair away from her brow. He looked down at her in complete adoration. "I fear I am of no use without you, my dear Lieutenant," he confessed.

"You'll have Katrina," Abbie suggested.

Ichabod shook his head, tears in his eyes. He reached up to touch her cheek with his left hand. "Hers is not the face I wish to see each morning. Hers is not the hand I wish to hold and hers is not the heart to which I belong."

Abbie's face crumbled and another tear streamed down her face. "Damn you and your way with words," she said, mock admonishment in her voice, a small smile on her lips. "I really wish you had figured this out BEFORE we came to Purgatory, you know? Maybe you wouldn't be in that coffin right now."

Ichabod nodded, pulling her close once more. He breathed in the familiar scent of her, using it as a balm on his battered soul. "I beg you to believe that if I had the opportunity to go back and start again, everything would be different. I would never have allowed you to remain here, no matter what your proclamations were. I shall never forgive myself for this. Not in 10,000 lifetimes. I thought I had sinned before, but nothing compares to the sin I have perpetrated against you."

He watched as sadness bloomed across her face at his words, and she pulled away, sitting down at the dollhouse's table. She looked so alone sitting there; never more an orphan than at that moment.

"Can't go back, Ichabod," she finally said, lowering her head; her voice a pale imitation of its usual bravado. She drifted off for a moment, head hanging low, her breathing shallow. It was then that Ichabod noticed how weary she seemed. He was almost certain he could see the life force seeping from her with every moment that passed.

Finally, Abbie raised her head, and Ichabod was shocked at how pale she looked. Her eyes were duller, as well; almost lifeless. "If there's one thing I learned in my life it's that our choices are our own and we have to live with them." Her voice was so soft, so faint and weak, but somehow, she pressed on. "You _chose_ to bring Katrina back. I _chose_ to stay in Purgatory. And just now, I chose to give you my strength. It was a choice made from love and I won't take it back. Without it, you were going to die in that unmarked grave on that lonely island…"

Abbie trailed off and closed her eyes. She wrapped her arms around her midsection and slumped back into the chair, breathing slowly. It was as though her declaration had sapped all of the meager strength she had left.

Ichabod rushed to her side and kneeled next to her, pulling her against his chest. "Hush now," he said tenderly, stroking her cheek. "You're too weak. Please save your strength."

Abbie was quiet for a while, just breathing. Ichabod said nothing; just held her and hoped that somehow she would be able to draw strength from him. As he did, he slowly noticed the strange sensation of a fullness settling around where he assumed his heart was. It was not an unpleasant feeling, instead it seemed to soothe his frayed nerves and calm the tempest inside. Gradually as Miss Mills' breaths became lighter and less labored, he found his own doing the same.

He felt a tug on his sleeve and when he looked down at her, he was amazed at how young she suddenly looked – almost like a girl – and how healthy! Her previous bruises were gone. Her cheeks were full and glowing and the wound on her shoulder had disappeared. Beyond her physical recovery, it seemed like all of the pain and abuse and loneliness she had weathered in her mortal life had been lifted away, like a veil. The heavy darkness that once marred her soul and the burden it had placed on her was gone and only lightness and pure beauty remained. He was made breathless by her unearthly grace. Ichabod was certain that this was what it must feel like to gaze upon a heavenly being. Before he even realized it, his hand cradled her cheek.

"You are so beautiful," he breathed, almost like a prayer. "An angel."

She half-smiled and exhaled slowly, looking away from him shyly. "They told me this might happen."

Ichabod made her look back at him and stroked her cheek gently with his thumb. He could not stop gazing at her. His eyes were wide with the wonder and splendor of her. "That what might happen?"

"You've got a part of me inside you now, Crane," she said slowly. His brow crinkled and he wondered if that was the fullness he had taken note of before.

"What I gave you was more than just my physical strength," Abbie continued. "You have a piece of my soul. So you can see the real me; the one I usually hide. The woman behind all the pain and sorrow I knew in my life. When you look at me now, all of the stuff I used as my armor – all the things I hid behind – they're gone. My wounds aren't really gone. It's just that you can't see them anymore. You can only see the truth of my soul. This is me."

"Why did you ever hide something so precious?" he asked in amazement. "I've always thought you beautiful and brave, but now…here…you are magnificent."

Abbie smiled, a blush creeping across her cheeks, her eyes glittering. "You and your way with words."

She kissed his left cheek, then; lingered there, near the corner of his lips. Somehow, it felt like an incredibly intimate thing for her to do and he smiled, feeling his heart break into a gallop; a colt in spring.

"Now I'll always be with you," she whispered, her voice catching a bit. "You'll never walk alone and there's nothing Moloch can do about it."

He took her hand reverently between his own. "I do not wish to merely have part of you with me, Miss Mills. I wish to have all of you. Surely you can remain steadfast until I return and procure your release? Please, Abbie."

She looked up at him adoringly, but shook her head. "That's not possible now. Besides, I don't want you wasting time worrying about me or trying to save me. It's okay, Crane."

He gripped her hand a little tighter. "Lieutenant, I do not believe you realize the depth of my feelings. Have you forgotten my previous declaration?"

She sighed. "Things look different here, like I said. They feel different. I think this place amplifies the emotions of mortal people. Once you get back and you're with Katrina, you'll feel differently. You'll remember your love for her." She took a deep breath and tried to smile.

"Am I to understand by all that gibberish that you believe I will forget my feelings for you once I leave this place? That you will cease to mean anything to me?" he asked, his blue eyes bright with anger. He felt tears of frustration on his cheeks but didn't bother to wipe them away.

She reached up and smoothed his tears away. "I didn't mean it that way. I know you won't forget me, but I'm hoping you will be able to find joy in your life…in Katrina. This is how it has to be now. Look," she said, pointing off towards the younger version of herself and Jenny.

Ichabod looked to where she had directed and saw that the younger Jenny and Abigail had risen from the couch. They were standing hand in hand looking at them, but the most amazing thing about the pair was that they were smiling. Previously, their faces had been gaunt and hollow with fear and sadness, but now they were glowing with joy.

"Thank you," they suddenly said in unison, looking right at Abbie. The combination of their voices produced a strange eerie effect and sent a chill down Ichabod's back. He felt the hair on the back of his neck rising.

Ichabod looked from them to Abbie and back again. Why were they thanking her? He turned back to Abbie, eyes wide, fear gripping his heart with an ice-cold certainty. "What is the meaning of this?"

Abbie took his hand, but said nothing; simply inclined her head to them in acknowledgement.

Ichabod looked back at the pair and noticed that their forms were no longer solid. He could almost see through their bodies to the wall behind them. They began to shimmer, like the water in the pond behind his childhood home in England, and each moment that passed, he could see more of the wall and less of them. They did not seem afraid in the slightest for their eyes were bright with laughter and wonder.

Just before they disappeared completely, he heard them say, "We're free…"

Their words echoed in the air of the dollhouse even after he could no longer see them, and although they had appeared happy to go to wherever and whatever awaited them, he found their absence unnerving and feared they foreshadowed a similar fate for Abbie. Would she be next to evaporate before his very eyes?

"Miss Mills, _please_—"

She put a finger to his lips effectively stopping his words and smiled at him. Once again, he was transfixed by her now otherworldly beauty and poise. Her movements were fluid – those of an accomplished dancer – but even more elegant still. Her eyes were liquid pools of topaz and her skin seemed lit from within and looked as soft as silk. He wanted nothing more than to touch her at that moment. He had thought her beautiful from their first meeting, but now, paradoxically in this inherently ugly place, she was more beautiful than ever; almost unnaturally so. It was very powerful – this ability he now had to see her true version. In truth, it only made his feelings for her stronger and more profound. If he tried, he was also quite certain that now, more than just a vague fullness, he could feel the essence of her presence deep within himself; hiding in the very marrow of his bones. She was in him, curling around his mind and between every beat of his heart and in the spaces between every breath he took. Ichabod knew they had formed a fast camaraderie soon after meeting, and that had transformed into a deep friendship that had sustained him in this strange time. Recently, though, he had begun to notice other deeper emotions regarding the Lieutenant that had begun surfacing just before they came here, and now he was quite certain that bond had solidified into the eternity of soul mates.

"It's time, Crane." She pulled him from his reverie and he noticed that even her voice had transformed to him; become melodic and lyrical even when speaking mundane words. Just the mere sound of it nearly bewitched him and he wondered if this was how sailors felt when they were lured by mermaids.

"Time?" He couldn't seem to remember to what she was referring, so lost was he in the spectacle of her, but quickly, meaning dawned on him, like a red sky at sea; a warning. The idea that he had to leave her was like a bucket of cold water on his head and he was suddenly petrified.

She nodded, but her smile never wavered. If she was scared at all, he was unable to discern it. "Yep. I don't want you to, but you gotta go."

"I've already informed you that I have no intention of leaving you here – especially not to dissolve into nothing like your companions just did!" He knew his voice had a hysterical edge to it, but he couldn't seem to control it.

Abbie didn't seem upset by his ranting. Instead, she seemed to exude serenity and peace and the very dichotomy of what she _should_ be feeling and what she _appeared_ to be made him even more upset. He felt himself begin to shake and his vision darkened, inherently he knew that pure panic was chasing him down the way any demon would.

Abbie was immediately in his arms and the moment he felt her body against his, it soothed some of the turmoil in his soul. The gloom retreated from his vision and he felt his body still. His eyes drifted shut and he pulled her as close as he was able and bit down a cry.

"Shh…Crane, it's okay," she said, gently rubbing his back. Once again, the new persuasive capacity of her voice made him almost powerless to resist anything she might ask of him. "I'm here with you."

"For _now_," he said, finally voicing the fear that had plagued him since he had found her here.

"No. Remember, I'm inside you now. I'll be with you, always, Crane," she said gently, affection flooding her voice, filling it to bursting.Her voice lulled him into a kind of reverie and he could do nothing but stand there in her embrace. Time stretched and lost its meaning and he did not know how long they stood like that, heart to heart. It could have been an eternity for all he knew, because all he did know was that he never wanted to leave her side.


	5. Chapter 5 -- Until His Heart Was Silent

A/N: Thank you to everyone who read this and those who wrote reviews! I so appreciate it! This started out as just a fun little diversion for me and a way to get over writer's block and now I have a story on my hands. There will be more chapters coming! :-)

"Open your eyes, Ichabod."

Her soft words, spoken after so much silence, startled him and his eyes snapped open. What he saw gave him a sudden jolt of hope; like consuming one of those vitality drinks she favored.

"Abbie, how is this possible? Are we…?"

The bleak dollhouse and its sorrow-filled halls were gone. The agonized souls were no longer lurching about, crying in pain. Indeed, all of Purgatory was gone, replaced with, of all things, a baseball field. But not just any field. It was the very field where Miss Mills had taken him not long ago to teach him about "America's favorite pastime." He could smell the grass and the dirt and songbirds flew overhead in an aquamarine sky that seemed to go on forever. It was too perfect to be genuine. He looked over to her, a hopeful yet tentative smile on his lips.

Abbie bit hers and moved a step away from him. "We're not really here," she said, sadness coloring her voice for the first time in a while.

So, it _was_ too perfect, then. He had feared as much, but the hope had blossomed in his heart anyway only for the truth of her statement to crush it into obscurity.

"Then what is this place?" he asked, defeated.

She shrugged and folded her arms across her chest. "I like to think of it as _our_ place." Her voice was small and soft, but so wonderful to hear. "The house was upsetting you, so I thought you would like this better. This is one of my best memories."

Ichabod's face fell. "It is one of my most treasured recollections, as well. But how did you do this?"

Her eyebrows raised. "I'm not sure?"

Abbie said it as a question but he was certain that she did not expect him to provide any kind of answer. So he said nothing and waited for her to continue.

She sighed. "I just thought of it all of a sudden and what a wonderful time we had that day and I thought that I would love to be able to go back there. Then…here we were. Maybe it was the girls' parting gift to us; a thank you."

"What about Moloch?"

He thought he saw her shiver at the mention of the demon's name, but it happened so fast, he couldn't be sure.

"He's still here. He'll never really let me leave the dollhouse. This place is just Purgatory camouflage…for you. It's so you can be more comfortable," she said, looking around at what could have been a perfect day.

"But you told me not a moment ago that it was time for me to leave," Ichabod said, taking a step towards her. As he did, she moved back from him, her movements feline and lithe.

"It is. Jenny is close to you. I can feel it. She _will_ find you."

He moved towards her again and when she feinted away a second time, he halted his movements, took a deep breath and held his hands up as though he were under arrest. "Will you please cease your infernal peripatetic wandering?!"

She smiled then, and put her hands on her hips. "I will if you stop trying to touch me."

He was stopped short by her comment and truly flabbergasted. "Why am I suddenly barred from holding you?" he asked, his eyes winterblue and wounded.

Her smile faded and she sighed. "You're not, Crane. I'm just trying to make things easier for you."

Ichabod was shocked at how completely she had the situation upturned in her mind. How in the world could anything good come out of him staying away from her? How could that be "easy" as she had said? Abbie must truly believe that he would leave Purgatory and just take up some happy existence with Katrina while she floundered here after sacrificing herself for her blasted notion of his happiness and what she thought he truly wanted.

"Will you come with me?" Her simple request broke him from his thoughts.

He hesitated only seconds before closing the gap between them and taking her hand in his. The moment he did, he felt their undeniable connection spring to life and he said nothing as she led him over to the bleachers. He assumed they were going to sit on them as they had done that day at the real baseball field, but instead, she kept walking. Eventually he realized they were going underneath them. Abbie crouched down and scurried underneath, sitting in the damp grass, motioning for him to follow. He looked at her for a few beats in complete confusion and then decided not to question for once; just follow wherever his heart led. It was truly his life's greatest pity that he had learned so late just exactly what it was his heart wanted.

He sat next to her and she immediately took his hand in hers, but seemed careful that no other parts of their bodies were touching. She wasn't even looking at him. This new notion she had about making things "easy" for him was becoming truly maddening.

"When Jenny and I were kids," she began, "and my mother was ranting and raving and being generally crazy and everything seemed hopeless, we would sneak out of the house and run to our local baseball field. And we'd sit under the bleachers and watch the game and watch all of the families that were there and pretend that one of them was our own. You know, like a real family; people who loved each other and laughed together."

"Abbie," he began, but she held up a hand to stop him.

"It's all right, Crane. That's all gone now. I don't even feel it anymore. I guess all of that lifted from me when I gave you my strength…when I…died. It's like, I can remember it, but the pain that always came with it before just doesn't exist now. It's like I said: I don't have to hide anymore."

She turned to look at him, and he could see that she spoke the truth. There were no tears in her eyes, no pain or hurt. They were clear and bright.

"Anyway, sitting under those bleachers always got us out of the dumps somehow. No matter how bad it got at home, we could always come here and lose ourselves in the daydream of a better life. So, I guess that I brought you here because I want you to know that is what I want for you: a better life. It's what you deserve."

He reached out to touch her cheek and was surprised when she allowed it. "Miss Mills, can't you see that I will have _no_ life without you?"

She put her hand on top of his while it was still on her cheek and for a moment, turned her face into his hand. "You will. I've made sure of it. '_Tomorrow was made for some_,' Crane, but not me. So when you get back to the real world and you think of me – think of me here. Not back in the dollhouse. Imagine me here and maybe you'll make it happen. Picture me sitting under these bleachers, with the smell of the grass and the crack of a bat behind me. Picture me daydreaming about the amazing life you're going to have – a Revolutionary soldier in the modern world who got a second chance with the love of his life."

He shook his head, feeling anger and hopelessness and desperation welling up inside. "But **_you_** are—"

"Stop," she said, holding her hand up, cutting him off. Her eyes were instantly full of tears and the agony that had been previously erased from her countenance was back tenfold.

"Please don't say it. I don't think I could make it one more second alone here if you say it. I know I said I don't feel the pain of my life anymore, but for some reason, I feel **everything** about you." Her voice broke on the last word and a tear streaked down her cheek; a lightning strike. She reached out and took his hand and kissed his palm softly. Then, after a shuddering breath, she went on.

"I think I feel what I feel for you even more now…here…in this place. It cuts deeper somehow. So if you say what you were going to say, I'm pretty sure my heart will break into about a thousand pieces and I'll just blink out of existence from the agony. I know my body is dead and gone, but that kind of pain…that could kill my soul. That's the only thing I still have to hide from…for eternity now, I guess."

Ichabod's face fell at her words and he felt as though she had shot an arrow into his heart, so great was the ache there. He wanted nothing more than to wrap his arms around her and never release her. He wanted to take away that pain and spend the rest of his life making her feel safe and loved and to know that she would never have to be alone again.

"Miss Mills, don't you see that I feel the same? I will be nothing more than a shell without you. My heart will be crippled. How can it be proper for us to be apart if it will tear our souls to shreds? We are the Witnesses. God has decreed that we be united. How can you question His will?"

Abbie looked at him in such a strange way that for a few moments, he wasn't sure if she was going to kiss him or punch him. In the end, her brown eyes filled with tears that spilled onto her cheeks in endless torrents.

"I know who we are, Crane, ok? I know! Trust me, leaving you – being _without_ you – will be the hardest thing I've ever done. I'm not sure if I'll survive it, but if this is the only way to keep you alive, I've got to try."

Ichabod wracked his brain for another way to get through to her, but found himself at a loss. He had tried every tactic; every way but one. Every way but what he now knew was the ultimate truth of his soul; his very existence. He took her hands in his and held them to his chest; his eyes boring into hers, hoping he could penetrate the wall she had built up around herself.

"I love you, Abbie." The words left him in a reverent hush and seemed to hang in the air between them, thick and ripe with meaning.

Those four words seemed to undo her and her face crumpled as she collapsed against him, sobbing. She grabbed the lapels of his jacket and pulled him closer to her, her cheek pressed against his shirt. He felt her tears soaking through it to his skin. Ichabod wrapped his arms around her and hoped his presence would provide some relief to her and would help her to see that she was wrong in staying in Purgatory. Slowly, her sobs calmed and then ceased and she was silent for a few moments.

When she pushed away from him and spoke, her voice was soft but resolute. "I want you to know you made a difference in my life. You may think you see the real me now, but I could tell you saw her from the first time we met. I got that right away. I think that's why I let you get so close as fast as you did and why I believed you when everyone else thought you were crazy. You took me the way I was and made me feel like I was good enough. Nobody besides Corbin ever did that for me. I will keep that with me forever. Your memory and what you did for me will keep me warm in this place and I know as long as I have that, I can take whatever Moloch does to me. I want to give you something back of what you've given me. I love you, too, Ichabod and that's why I want you to live."

Ichabod looked at her – so brave in the face of tragedy – and only one thought, one question came to his mind. "What is it you most desire, Miss Mills?"

Her brow furrowed and she wiped a few errant tears away. "What?"

"When I first…arrived and Moloch had you, he told you that if you gave him your soul, he would give you that which you most desired…"

Abbie looked at him sideways. "You heard that part, huh?" She nodded, a sad smile on her lips. "Well, it doesn't matter, because like I told him it's something that even _he_ couldn't do."

Ichabod took her hand gently and if he didn't know it was impossible, would have sworn that his heart was black and blue, so mightily did it ache. "And ever since you uttered those words, I have been speculating what in the world you might desire that would be beyond Moloch's powers to attain. Might you enlighten me?"

Her face crumpled a bit and she quickly wiped away a tear that had appeared almost instantly. The moment she did, Ichabod had his answer, but for some sadistic reason, he wanted her to say it. Perhaps as a way to punish himself?

But instead, she reached out and touched his face chastely, her eyes portraits of pain. "Can't you guess, Crane?"

It was **him**. _He_ was that which she most desired and thought unattainable, and that assumption was his fault entirely. He could barely see her for the tears in his eyes. It almost seemed as though he were looking at her through a thick pane of glass; her image was fractured and broken. Or perhaps that was simply his heart.

"Miss Mills, please…" he faltered, his throat choked with pain, his fingers ghosting across her face.

Abbie smiled at him sadly, wiping some of his tears away with her thumb. "Crane, it's okay. I may not get what I most desire, but you will. You'll be back with Katrina…which reminds me…"

She reached behind her head with both hands and before Ichabod knew what was happening she was holding Katrina's pendant in front of him. "Here. This isn't mine."

He shook his head, fear stealing his breath. "Katrina gave you that pendant for your safekeeping. Without it, you will have no protection from Moloch."

She looked at him quizzically and grabbed his hand and let the pendant puddle in his palm. "She gave me this pendant when I was still alive. She gave this pendant to protect a mortal trapped in an immortal place. Crane, I _am_ dead." Here, her voice faltered, a tear slipping down her cheek and she closed his fingers around the pendant. "You've got to accept the truth and the truth is I don't need this anymore. I'm beyond its help, but the two of you aren't. If it can help either of you one day, then I want you to have it."

He was about to tell her that her assumption was incorrect when she tapped him on his chest, over his heart.

"Take good care of that little piece of me, ok?" she asked. "Know that if it's possible, I will watch over you your entire life. You will _never_ walk alone, I swear."

Ichabod was lost, cast adrift on an ocean of pain and regret and desolation. He could only shake his head. "Please…" he croaked out again, his eyes swimming shut.

"I'll miss you, always and love you, forever," she said, her voice breaking.

Before he could say anything else, she leaned forward and pressed her lips to his chastely and he could not escape the feeling that she intended it as a goodbye kiss. Before he could speak, he was assaulted with an overpowering fatigue that permeated his every pore. He fell back onto the grass and reached out for Abbie. His fingers found nothing but empty space and no matter how hard he tried, he could not open his eyes. They felt almost weighted down or filled with sand. Ichabod was about to scream out her name, when her sweet voice cut through the inky darkness that was now all around him.

"_Open your eyes, Ichabod._"

Her words echoed, bouncing around him as though he were in some deep cavern underground and he tried to move again, to sit up, but was still unable. If he hadn't known better, he would have sworn that he was being held down. With a deep breath, Ichabod tried again and was finally able to open his eyes, encountering only endless obsidian that seemed no different than when he had his eyes closed. He knew he should have found such obscurity unnerving, but instead, it felt in some way familiar to him. And where was Miss Mills?

"_Why are you here, Crane?_"

He tried to turn his head in the direction from which her voice had come, but he could not. Ichabod simply could not grasp what had happened in such a short span of time. One moment, he had been with Abbie at the baseball field and the next he had been pushed headlong into this dark void of nothingness and she had utterly vanished.

She had vanished…evaporated…faded away…blinked out of existence.

Violent nausea rolled over him in waves as understanding dawned on him, a scream working its way out from the depths of his shattered heart.

"_You're not dead, Ichabod._"

Only her voice stopped him from screaming her name until he was hoarse and his last breath spent. Perhaps if he could still hear her, she was not truly gone and he could find his way back to her. He simply could not bear the thought that she had just ceased to exist the way the girls had. There had to be another way, just as she had once said to him.

He took a deep breath, but found that the air around him had changed and was no longer as easy to bring into his lungs. It seemed damp and heavy and the strange scent that had been ever-present in Purgatory before this was now missing. As he noted its absence, Ichabod was better able to remember the times he had smelled it before…

_…__In the gatehouse of his father's estate, where their housekeeper lay ill…_

_…__At the foot of a tree into which the hounds had chased a fox…_

_…__In the smokehouse, where the Christmas hams hung from the rafters…_

_…__At the edge of his mother's bed, as he watched her fall deeper into the clutches of Tuberculosis…_

Tears welled in his eyes as he realized that the odd aroma he had noticed in Purgatory since he first arrived – the one that had been familiar but elusive – had been the scent of Death.

Everywhere he had been with Abbie in Purgatory, it had been there, clinging, loitering, smothering and enveloping everything in its black presence; including the Lieutenant.

Ichabod felt the scream fighting to break loose again from the deepest part of his soul. Perhaps that was why he had such a burning pain in his lungs? The scream was scorching everything it touched as it passed – branding him the way her love had – the mark a testament to her indomitable spirit and singular strength of character. It claimed him as hers and hers alone and he would accept it proudly. Was it not the least he could do considering all she had sacrificed in his name?

He tried to take another breath, but found it nearly impossible. There was just no more air to be had wherever he was. He wondered if this erased void where everything and nothing existed at once was God's final decision on his punishment for his betrayal of Abbie. Possibly, this was his own personal Purgatory: alone and held still in the horrible presence of his sin. The fact did not frighten him, though he supposed it should have. All Ichabod could think about was that Abbie was gone and he would never see her again, never touch her again, never see her smile. If that were true, what did it matter what happened to him now? The only thing that pained him was that Abbie had made her sacrifice in vain, because he was not to survive the coffin after all. He had never even made it out of Purgatory. Instead, God had simply been expertly cruel and put him in his own hell: existence separate from Abbie Mills.

His breath hitched in his chest and he gasped, barely able to get any air at all. Distantly, absently, he thought he heard a thumping and scraping sound, but he paid it no mind. It was likely his own heart banging against his chest as it lurched frantically to its inevitable crescendo.

Ichabod closed his eyes since there was nothing to see anyway and the Lieutenant's face drifted into focus in his mind. His eidetic memory showed him every detail of her face: the lines of her lips, arches of her brows and the affection that shone in her russet eyes when she gazed upon him. He was grateful that God had not taken that from him, at least. He felt, too, that small part of her that he now carried, curled deep inside. Though that small fragment gave him some comfort, it broke his heart anew, as well, because it was a piece longing for its whole. It whispered her name like a prayer given up to the heavens and although meant to give him strength, it now dealt him a crushing blow. Ichabod felt her absence like a knife's blade and knew that even if he had survived the coffin, he would not have been able to live with the torment of living without Abbie. With every passing moment, that pain chipped away at his heart and soul and made him realize that he was now part of a whole – separated eternally from that which it belonged – and he would forever be incomplete.

With the last few breaths in his body and until his heart was silent, he said aloud over and over the only truth of which he was still certain.

"I love you, Abbie. I love you, Abbie. I love you, Abbie."


	6. Chapter 6 -- Soft But Savage

**A/N: Sorry for the huge delay in updating, but work has just been so crazy and stressful lately and my daughter started Kindergarten. But I am so proud that I was able to get these next two chapters up before the Season 2 Premiere! Now my story does not have to worry about canon in that regard. ;-)**

Ichabod came back slowly to the world – hesitant, wobbly and unsure – the way a butterfly emerged from its chrysalis. He was still lost in darkness, but he knew he was not where he had been. Something fundamental had changed and for a few moments, there was nothing before **now**, but he felt certain that it existed. It was waiting for him…waiting…waiting…something…or was it some_one_…was waiting for him…waiting for him to come back. But who…and from where? If only he could remember… 

He could feel his mind probing outwards carefully, and as it did, little tendrils of the world reached out in return, wrapping around him and pulling him out of the darkness and into the light of knowing.

The light began as just a pinprick in the darkness he had become accustomed to and slowly spread outwards; ink bleeding across paper. Then it crashed down upon him like an avalanche and boulders rained down onto his heart mercilessly until all that was left in the rubble after the dust settled was Abbie's face.

He had left Abbie alone in Purgatory!

She had forced him to abandon her there because she thought he wanted to live out his life with Katrina. She thought she was doing the honorable thing and giving him what he wanted. Ludicrous, really, since he had recently discovered – admitted? – that he was, in fact, in love with Miss Mills herself.

Her beautiful face shimmered into focus in his mind as he slowly, ever so slowly, became aware of the sensation of breathing again. The last thing he remembered, he had been in complete darkness and there had been no air left. He had assumed that was his punishment from God: to forever drift in the dark eddies of Purgatory, his body frozen in the grip of its tragic last breath, while the burden of his sin against Abbie pressed down on him.

But now, amazingly, he was able to breathe again and Ichabod could not understand why or how, and he felt guilty for the ability. He had accepted his fate, so where could he be in Purgatory that air had been returned to him?

A moment later, sounds around Ichabod floated back to him – light as feathers – brushing insistently against his face.

Something squeaking down a distant hallway. A quill scratching against paper? A door closing. And the sound of murmured, worried voices.

But the sounds were unwelcome, and Ichabod turned inwards once again, with a will stronger than he thought he still possessed – and pushed the sounds and sensations away again – especially the voices. It seemed as though he hadn't heard spoken words in forever and hadn't even _thought_ words in an eternity. In those last moments before the air was gone, there had been no time or energy for words or coherent thought. His whole being had been reduced down to brief images and glimpses of emotion as he had resigned himself to the fact that he had died and his soul would spend the rest of its existence in Purgatory, forever separated from Miss Mills.

Ichabod did not want to face whatever new torture Moloch had designed for him. Wherever he was, he did not think himself strong enough to brave it without Abbie by his side. She was his rudder – guiding him where he ought to go; showing him the correct path. Without her, he felt cast adrift on an unknown sea. But even as he railed against this new reality he felt himself moving ever closer to it; powerless against its pull – a slave to its gravity.

Then, suddenly – jarringly – the muddled voices distilled into one clear tone: someone telling him to rest. He could not shake the feeling that the voice was familiar; that it was known to him. But there was nothing in his mind to give him a frame of reference for how he should know the voice. He could almost recall how he knew it, but the memory stayed just beyond his reach. All Ichabod could say for certain was that it was not Abbie's sweet pleasing voice and therefore, was not important. He gasped painfully as he realized that the only voice he wished to hear was hers. He turned inward again, stubbornly focused on her memory and the way she looked when he had declared his love; the way her whole being had seemed to effuse light and happiness. For that moment, at least, he had given her the gift of knowing that she was not alone and that he truly cared for her. The very thought that he should never see her or hold her again filled his heart with a bleak anguish he would not have thought possible before this. It took hold of him, choking, strangling, suffocating.

"Abbie…" he whispered brokenly, his voice thick with tears.

"There, there…just rest now." The voice was soft and tender and familiar and it vexed him because who would speak to him thusly except for his dear Abbie?

And then, with the weight of Vesuvius, it hit him; flames of lava singeing his heart.

Katrina.

His eyes snapped open in shock and then instantly closed again in an attempt to hide from the bright sunlight that filtered in through the shades, slanting across the floor in bright parallelograms. He felt her cold fingers on him then, fluttering across his cheeks and forehead, coming to rest on his shoulder. He steeled himself against her touches and kind entreaties. They were hollow and meaningless to him now. Katrina was no longer the one he wanted touching him and that caused him more guilt and grief, for he wished he had discovered his feelings sooner – if only to spare her needless pain and to have had even a paltry amount of time with Abbie.

Ichabod could not seem to force his mind to understand how his life had changed so drastically in a day. It didn't seem possible. At its core, the world was the same today as it had been yesterday, but everything that made the world _his_ world was now gone and shattered and could not be mended.

Katrina's hand slid down his shoulder to his left hand, but still he kept his eyes clamped tightly shut. If he opened his eyes, then he would have to face the truth. He would have to face the reality that he had somehow escaped the pine coffin while Miss Mills was left alone to endure the horrible pain and torture of Purgatory. He would have to accept the consequence of what she had done – that she had sacrificed her life so that he might survive – and live with that for the rest of his miserable existence.

"Please, Ichabod. Do me the courtesy to at least look at me."

The tone in her voice gave him pause. Hiding just beneath the surface of her concern, there was pain. Slowly, he opened his eyes, bracing himself for what he might see.

Katrina was still wearing the same black gown she had been in Purgatory, but it was ripped in spots and dirt marred its satin expanse. Her flame-red hair looked frazzled and hung unkempt about her face, but it was her expression that most caught Ichabod's attention. He couldn't remember a time when she had ever looked at him the way she did now, with a strange mix of betrayal and agony, eyes rimmed with red.

What had happened? If only he could remember. If only Abbie were here to help him traverse this awful new reality.

"Well, if it isn't Rip Van Winkle."

He turned in the direction of the new voice – so achingly close to Abbie's – and found himself looking at Miss Jenny. She was leaning against the doorframe of what he quickly ascertained was his private room in an infirmary. How he had come to be in a hospital was unknown to him, but he was certain that Jenny had something to do with it.

It was quite peculiar seeing her as an adult again when Ichabod had grown accustomed to her as a child during his time in Purgatory. But the child he had recently seen had fared much better physically than the grown woman who now stood before him. Jenny had a dressing on her head, her bottom lip was split open and her left arm was in a sling. She, too, had a strange expression on her face – but quite different from Katrina's. Ichabod could clearly denote a mixture of emotions: anger, relief, pity and blame.

But it was her very countenance – her similarity to the one he so treasured – that undid him, and the despair clawing at his soul twisted his face into a mask of pain. His eyes swam shut, tears slipping, unheeded, down his cheeks.

Seeing her only brought Abbie's absence to the forefront and the pain of it cut at him like a hot blade. Instantly, he felt the piece of her that resided inside him spark to life, waking from its slumber in the depths of his heart. It unfurled, stretching and growing, and called for her, slicing at his heart and soul, but then, strangely, the presence of it calmed him, as well. It was at once a balm and an astringent and he wondered if the comfort and pain it brought him in equal doses would prove to be the end of him. Abbie had told him that she had given him her mortal strength, but also much more than that. She had given him a part of her soul and because of that he would never be alone. However, if he were pressed to tell the truth at that moment, he had never felt more alone in his entire life. For all he desired in his existence – mortal or otherwise – was Abbie and she was the very person he would be forever denied.

"What is it, Ichabod?"

Katrina's voice had slipped back into timid concern and he felt awful for his thoughts, but he could not control his feelings. He found himself unable to speak from the pain drowning his heart; couldn't even look in her direction. Another tear slipped down his cheek as he opened his eyes and turned to look at Jenny

"How…long?" he asked, knowing she would understand the inference in his question.

Jenny looked from Katrina to him, eyebrows raised, but to her credit, she did not mention his obvious dismissal of Katrina's question.

"You've been out thirty-six hours, give or take," she finally answered. "That's not counting your time in that god-awful box. The doctors think you were probably in there for about twelve. They don't understand how you survived. Neither do I…"

Fear stole Ichabod's breath as he quickly calculated that Abbie has been in Purgatory for two days now; two mortal days. He remembered how she had looked after only being there for a few hours – how it had seemed like weeks for her. What would she look like now? What had Moloch done to her since Ichabod had been parted from her?

"The last thing I can clearly remember is being in the coffin," he said. "I thought it was surely the end. How did I arrive here?"

He looked around at the grey hospital room and the bed he now lay in, and the strange tube snaking out from his hand and up to a pouch of clear liquid hanging above him. Looking down, he found that he wore little more than a strange blue paper shift and every muscle in his body ached as though he had marched for days with no rest.

Jenny took a deep breath and he noticed that it hitched a little at the end. A broken rib, he suspected. "I was on my way to find you guys…to tell you about Parrish…when the Horseman suddenly appeared in the middle of the road. He did his best to stop me…or kill me. Not sure which. Probably both."

She held up her injured arm as evidence. "Anyway, when I came to, I was upside down in the truck. I don't exactly remember getting out, but all of a sudden, I was walking in the woods. I used the GPS on my phone to get to the spot you were trying to find. I had saved it on my phone before you left the Archives. When I got there and saw nothing, I decided to call Abbie's phone one more time. I figured it was worth a shot. That's when I heard the ringing…"

Ichabod looked at her strangely. His mind still felt distorted and jumbled and he was not sure what Jenny was trying to tell him. It seemed as though he were navigating his way through a dense fog of cobwebs and misconceptions.

"Miss Jenny, I am afraid I am at a loss as to your meaning."

Jenny sighed, clearly frustrated. "The ringing was coming from underground…" She prompted, raising her eyebrows and waited.

Ichabod still didn't understand and decided that saying nothing was the best course of action. His head was pounding in a feverish staccato rhythm and he felt dizzy from it.

Jenny exhaled in a huff. "You had Abbie's phone! I heard the ringing and started digging. The doctors said you should have run out of air hours before. They don't know how you were still alive when I found you."

Ichabod knew how he had survived. He had survived because Miss Mills, fearless in her belief that he had to go on, had given him her strength, thereby condemning her eternal soul to Purgatory.

There but for the grace of Abbie went he.

But then Ichabod's mind latched onto Jenny's earlier statement. Abbie's phone? He had Abbie's phone? Slowly, a memory slithered back into his consciousness: Abbie had lent him her "smartphone" because he had complained that his phone was not quite up to his standards. So she had courteously allowed him to use hers and see if it was to his liking.

"Of course. I forgot she had been gracious enough to loan it to me…but I remember now. I was trying to reach it directly after Jeremy pushed me into the coffin, but the space was too confined and I was unable. I felt horrible that I was going to die and Miss Mills would forever think I had abandoned her in Purgatory."

Katrina suddenly sniffled loudly and with a mumbled excuse, slunk from the room.

Jenny watched her go and Ichabod decided it was with little pity or regard. "You might have some explaining to do there, Crane."

"I am afraid I do not understand." Ichabod looked at her simply, waiting for an explanation.

Jenny smirked, but then winced when the expression apparently caused the wound on her temple to ache. "Right before you woke up, you were saying the same thing over and over."

Crane looked away from her and fixed his gaze on the trees outside the hospital window, the tearing and aching feeling returning. Now that his mind was clearing, he found he remembered EVERYTHING about his time in Purgatory with Abbie and it was the first time in his life that he cursed his memory. Strangely though, he could not recall that to which Jenny was referring. He did not remember repeating any mantra of any kind and found that he cared little about whatever it was that he had said. And by association, he realized with an odd detachment, that meant that he cared little that Katrina had been distressed by it. He had never felt more broken or lost – even when he first woke up to his new life.

He sighed. "And what could I have said that would upset Katrina?" he asked, hoping it sounded as though he were concerned. In truth, if Abbie were safe and well and beside him now, her warm hand in his, he would have been able to muster up worry for Katrina. She had been his wife and he owed her that, at least. But with things as they were at present, her minor upset paled in comparison to Abbie's fate.

Jenny furrowed her brow and for the life of him, he did not know why. When she spoke, her voice was sarcastic and clipped, but held a tiny shadow of humor.

"Oh I don't know. I think it was probably you saying '_I love you, Abbie_' about ten times that might have set her on edge, but it's hard to say. Maybe you forgot to pick up milk on the way home?"

Ichabod stared at her, dumbfounded, and suddenly it came rushing back to him. He had thought he was dying and trapped in that dark version of Purgatory forever and was certain that God had doled out his punishment for betraying Abbie. It had never occurred to him that he would ever get out of that pine coffin. He had said his heart's most profound truth, almost as a prayer of some kind – a penance – hoping that God would understand that he still had one redeeming quality. He loved a kind, brave and beautiful woman who had given her life for the greater good of Humanity and that should count for something.

Suddenly the pain of being separated from Abbie overwhelmed him and he brought his hands up to cover his eyes, using all of his willpower to bite down a screaming sob. The very idea that he actually had to continue living without her was simply a thought he could not bear.

He looked up at Jenny, his whole body shaking. He could not erase from his mind the image of Abbie being held aloft by Moloch, the scent of Death ever-present. Ichabod could still see Moloch's his claws ripping into her skin, her face the picture of misery as she proclaimed, "_I know my destiny: to be alone._" It haunted him and he felt the tiny fragment of Abbie inside him tighten around his heart, trying to bolster his spirit.

Tears welled in his bright blue eyes and splashed down onto his cheeks. "I fear I shall not survive without her."

He knew that Jenny would understand that he was not speaking of Katrina, but Abbie.

Jenny pushed away from the doorframe and moved closer to his bedside, looming menacingly above him like a fallen angel. There were a thousand accusations in her dark, brooding eyes.

"You sure as hell ARE going to survive," she said, her voice soft but savage. "At least long enough to help me find her. Where is she, Crane?" she finally asked. "I _**need**_ to know."


	7. Chapter 7 -- Feathers Against the Sky

**NOTE: The line Ichabod quotes at the end of this chapter is from Hamlet, Act 1, Scene 5.**

Ichabod shook his head pitifully, feeling the pressure of his sin on his soul. "She sacrificed herself so that I might last long enough in the coffin until you found me. She…gave her life...for mine. She insisted that one of us had to survive to battle Moloch and Jeremy. There is nothing that can be done."

Jenny looked at him for a long time, and he thought she looked like a pot about to boil over, her anger simmering just beneath her skin. Then suddenly, her hands clenched into fists and he braced himself for what he was certain was soon to be a flurry of her fists against his face. But, sadly, she didn't hit him, though he found himself wishing she had. He deserved it.

She simply stood up, and she was so serenely quiet that Ichabod found it more disconcerting than if she were screaming vulgarities at him. At last, she spoke.

"So what, you and Ginger Spice out there are just gonna live happily ever after while my sister rots in Purgatory?" she seethed.

"_I'm giving you that happily ever after_…"

He gasped as Abbie's voice cut through his mind.

Jenny looked at him strangely, but apparently decided to ignore his behavior for the moment and absently sat back down. She seemed to be too caught up in her anger, her dark eyes on fire.

"Let me see if I got all the details straight, ok? One, you let my sister exchange places with Katrina in Purgatory and don't try to deny it because Jessica Rabbit, out there, told me all about it. Two, you let Abbie stay there knowing it was what Moloch wanted all along and three, you're now you're perfectly happy to let her stay there forever? Did I hit all the bullet points?" She paused a moment to catch her breath but continued quickly. "Well, no way in hell is that happening. Maybe you've already given her up for dead, but I haven't. I'm getting her back…with or _**without**_ your help."

She pushed up from the chair and looked at him in disgust, arms crossed. "Should I tell the little wifey to come back in now so you two can patch things up? You can tell her it was just a mistake and you weren't really saying you loved my sister…"

Ichabod said nothing. He found himself unable to form words laying there looking into eyes that were so eerily reminiscent of those he loved dearly. He swore he could hear the spark of Abbie inside him keening in grief at the sight even as it tried to stop him from crumbling in despair.

Jenny continued ranting, oblivious to his pain. "You know, for a while there, I thought maybe you really did love her. I thought maybe Abbie finally found somebody who cared about her and would put her first, but I guess I couldn't have been more wrong. You're just another in a long line of selfish bastards after all. I'm starting to wish I never found you, after all."

She waited a few beats and then made a sound of derision and turned, storming from the room.

"I, too, wish you had not found me," he said gently, before she reached the threshold, his voice raspy.

She stopped – barely – but didn't turn to look at him. He could tell she wanted to bolt from the room – the same way her younger version wanted to in Purgatory. Neither version seemed to want to be in his presence for very long. He could assign no blame to such a sentiment.

"I do not wish to see Katrina at this time," he finally said, his voice barely above a whisper. "I will not try to convince you of my feelings for your sister, but I would like to assuage your fears about my treatment of her. From the moment she volunteered to stay and every moment after, I have regretted my willingness to let her do so. I have cursed myself a thousand times over and will never be able to repent for such a sin. I told her as much. I betrayed her and do not deserve forgiveness. I believed that my punishment was death and to spend eternity in a black void being forever reminded of my transgression. I do not deserve her friendship or love…but…I do…love her…more than I can ever express. I came to the realization while I was in Purgatory with her. I'm sure I knew it subconsciously for some time now, but I confessed my feelings to her while I was with her. If there is a way to rescue her from the prison I put her in, then I will do everything in my power to do just that. Even if it means I must stay there in her stead. That is a price I will gladly pay for I fear I will not be able to continue without her."

Jenny turned and looked at him in complete shock.

"What if the only way is for Katrina to go back?"

Ichabod did not hesitate. "Then she will return. In any event, your sister and Katrina were only supposed to exchange places temporarily."

Jenny made a disbelieving snort, but he was certain that she was perhaps at least starting to doubt her earlier verdict about him.

"I'll believe that one when I see it." She turned again, to leave.

"A request, Miss Jenny?"

She stood, waiting, one eyebrow raised.

"Do you still retain possession of the Lieutenant's 'smartphone'?" he asked softly.

Jenny immediately stuck her hand into a pocket of her vest and pulled the phone out. "Yeah, why?"

"May I please have it?"

"There's nothing on it that can help us, Crane. I already checked."

"_Please_…" he begged, his voice thick with tears and pain.

Jenny shrugged and handed it to him. "Okay…here. I'm going to go and get rid of Red. You get dressed and when I get back, we're sneaking you out of here pronto. We can't afford to waste time while you '_recover_'."

Crane nodded weakly, looking down at the phone reverently. "Physically, I am quite well, Miss Jenny."

She nodded, but looked at him strangely - as though she didn't quite believe him. "Great…"

"Thank you for finding me," he said, but when he looked back up, she was already gone.

It was then that he realized he had not even bothered to ask how Katrina had managed to escape the Horseman – for she obviously had – and he wondered if it were possible to sink any lower into the murky depths of selfishness. It seemed he could not do right by either of the women he had ever professed to love.

Crane looked back down at the phone and after a few failed attempts, pulled up Abbie's text messages. He quickly found one of the last ones she sent to him.

It said, "_See you soon, Crane_." He looked away, his arms yearning to hold her in a fierce embrace, as he remembered their soft and quiet goodbye in Purgatory and Abbie's ultimate sacrifice. The image of her being held up by Moloch threatened at the edge of his mind, but he did his best to push it away and picture her under the bleachers of the baseball field, as she had asked, but omehow, he just felt like he was deceiving himself. She was not sitting under bleachers in the midst of a summer day watching a baseball game. She was being tortured by a demon in a place as close to Hell as he had ever seen and she was there because of him.

He turned from the phone and looked into the mirror in his hospital room. It was directly across from his bed as though waiting for him to gaze into it.

Suddenly, he felt an unnatural breeze lift the hair from his neck and the mirror fractured, revealing Abbie sitting at the kitchen table of the dark dollhouse. A solitary tear ran down her cheek. Behind her, he saw the shadow of Moloch on the wall and heard a song playing in the background. It was a song he had never heard before and yet some of the words were familiar to him.

"So love me tonight…Tomorrow was made for some…Tomorrow may never come...For all we know…"

It was the song she had referenced to him in Purgatory. "'Tomorrow was made for _some_,' she had said. The memory chilled him and he shuddered. Had she been foretelling her own death? Preparing him for it?

The Abbie in the mirror smiled sadly then and raised her hand in an apparent final gesture of farewell. She brought her fingers to her lips and kissed them, then placed them above her heart. Ichabod watched in equal parts of grief and horror as Moloch's shadow advanced, growing larger against the wall. Abbie seemed to sense his presence and looked behind her for a moment. When she turned back, her smile had been replaced with a look of sheer terror. She reached out to Ichabod, as if begging for help, but before he could find his voice to call out, the mirror broke all the way and the pieces blew back into its solid form.

Crane opened his eyes, and found that he was shaking. He looked again at the message on the phone.

"See you soon, Crane."

He gently stroked the phone's screen, his hand trembling. "I'll miss you, always and love you, forever…" he said brokenly, echoing her gossamer goodbye. He turned to look out the window and a tear streaked down his cheek.

When he had come to understand his feelings for her in Purgatory, Ichabod had discovered a small hope inside that somehow, he and Miss Mills would both escape and they might have a chance at some kind of life together – however tenuous it might be. During his time with her there, that hope had lived inside him, thrumming with life, its feather's bright and resplendent with the certainty that somehow, they would get that opportunity.

Ichabod couldn't have known that his hope would never take flight or see the light of day, even though perhaps, Abbie had. Nor could he have known that it would die a lonely death, perched on the remains of his spirit, waiting for a day that was never to be.

Was this what giving up felt like, he wondered? Surrendering? Admitting to failure? It felt unclean and ruined – the way the pristine snow looks after it had been trampled by horses and men heading off to war. It was an unknown emotion to him, for he had never in his life given in to defeat before.

Abbie's face filled his mind again and he felt a surge of pain and anger flood his body. Wincing, he ripped out the strange tubing that had been inserted into his arm and threw the covers off of himself, pushing unsteadily to his feet. Even though Abbie believed herself lost to the mortal world, it did not make it so. She had told him once that "there is always another way." He decided then that he could not stomach the taste of defeat and he would do whatever it took to find that other way and save Abbie. And then he would find Moloch and kill him for his transgressions against her.

Walking with an uneven gait to the window, for his muscles were still sore and cramped, he held onto the frame for support and looked out at the woods beyond the hospital. They were dark and heavy with mist and reminded him too much of the woods beyond the dollhouse in Purgatory.

He spoke softly, his breath fogging up the window and blurring the woods into strange shapes and shades of black and grey.

"Hear me, Moloch and know that this will not stand. I will not yield and I will not let you do this to the one I love. 'Haste me to know't, that I, with wings as swift as meditation or the thoughts of love, may sweep to my revenge.'"

Ichabod focused on nothing but repeating the last sentence over and over – his new mantra – until he dove deep into himself where he found the remains of Abbie's spark. It pulled him close – the way he knew she would if she were there with him – and filled him with comfort. For a few precious moments, he was able to feel as though they were together again and drew strength from that union as he had in the past. He knew he would need all the strength he could muster, for there was a battle coming: a battle for Abbie's soul.

The mantra became almost a meditation or prayer and he went even deeper inside and to a place where all the sounds around him floated away again like soft feathers fluttering against the sky.


	8. Chapter 8 -- A Baseball Field

**A/N: I wanted to apologize for how long it took me to get another chapter uploaded, but real life just got in the way. I've been dealing with the illness/injury of a family member recently and that has taken up most of my time. But I really want to thank everyone who followed/favorite this story and those who wrote reviews and especially to myBlueprints who sent me a lovely private message when I really needed it the most. So, thank you to everyone! And I hope to not have such a long time between updates. I'm reinvigorated about this story again (even though the show is kind of irritating me right now) and I really want to keep working on it. I hope everyone likes this chapter. :-)**

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**Chapter 8**

At first, there had been nothing but the feeling of emptiness. After Ichabod had gone, Abbie had found herself instantly back at the dollhouse and been unable to feel anything except a searing longing. It felt like it scorched her to the very marrow of her bones, tearing her heart asunder and leaving only ashes in its wake. Abbie was keenly aware of Ichabod's absence – more than she was aware of the fact she was no longer alive or that she would never see her sister again or that she was forever trapped where Moloch could torment her at will. All she could seem to focus on was the very idea that Ichabod was gone and forever parted from her and she didn't know how she would ever be able to go on without him.

At first, nothing else would fit into her soul.

But then, slowly – like a river winding lazily to the ocean – Abbie felt other sensations bubble to the surface of her consciousness. As time passed, she felt the pain in her shoulder from the wound Moloch had given her. It bled continuously but she never passed out from the blood loss. She seemed eternally perched on the edge of it, but unable to fall over. She knew that was Moloch's doing. As was the sting from the cut on her lip that never healed and the soreness of the bruises that mottled her face. He was keeping her in the first moments of his abuse; freezing her in time at the moment she was hurt so she would be forced to exist forever in anguish.

She knew he was doing everything in his power to break her and force her to hand over her soul – whatever was left of it. He was using everything in his arsenal to strip her of her armor and the walls she had built to keep him out, including forcing her to relive the moment she had sent Ichabod back to the mortal world.

She would never forget the way he had looked after she had kissed him that final time and sent him into a dreamless slumber. He had seemed peaceful at first – as she had been promised - but she could not erase the memory of the way he had reached out for her or the way his face had fallen when he had not been able to find her. It would haunt her forever. She had done that to him – let him down. He wouldn't have understood it was the only way to ensure his safety and that she would do it over a thousand times if it meant that he would survive.

Abbie was unsure as to how much time had passed since Ichabod had faded from her view. She had no way to mark time in this place. It could have been minutes or years. Ichabod could still be in the coffin waiting for Jenny to rescue him or he could be an old man surrounded by his grandchildren. An odd detached part of her almost hoped that he was that old grandfather because that would mean he had lived a good and happy life and there was no greater wish she had for him than that. But there was no way for her to tell because nothing in the dollhouse ever changed and now that the younger versions of Jenny and herself were gone, she had no way to get any new information.

She sat at the dollhouse's kitchen table, her chin resting in her hands and tried to keep the horror held back, for she was uncertain how she would ever fill the endless infinity before her all alone and without even a way to watch over Ichabod and make sure he was safe. She had promised he would not be alone, but now that's exactly what he was: alone and abandoned, with just a ghost of her stowed away inside him.

Abbie was sure she could still feel that missing piece of her soul the way an amputee could still feel a missing limb. She felt incomplete and broken and on the brink of total despair at every moment and her love for Ichabod only enhanced that feeling as it cried out for the piece that was missing.

Abbie sighed and pushed herself up from the table, a tear slipping down her cheek. The dollhouse was dark and desolate and without even the girls' companionship it seemed that the shadows that lingered in every corner cloaked it in lonesomeness. Her whole body felt sluggish and heavy. The lightness she had felt earlier when the pain from her mortal life had vanished had been short-lived; the pain of missing Ichabod a greater burden than anything she had known before.

Great love brings great grief, Corbin used to say. How she wished he were here now to help her through the greatest grief she had ever experienced.

She walked over to the window and looked out at the darkness of Purgatory's woods. The tormented and anguished souls never lessened or lightened. Abbie wondered how long it would be before she was one of the truly demented souls who just wandered endlessly through Purgatory completely lost in their own pain and unaware of any of the people they loved.

"That doesn't have to be your future."

Abbie whirled around at the sudden voice behind her and came face to face with Andy Brooks.

He looked so human: olive-green police uniform perfectly pressed, black hair shiny, skin unmarked and smooth and eyes the color of coffee. He looked just as he had in life and not like the…creature he had become when she saw him last. Abbie could not figure out how that could be or why he was in Purgatory when she knew he should be somewhere a bit…lower and hotter as far as she was concerned.

"Andy? What the hell are you doing here?" she snapped.

"Moloch sent me," he supplied, unable to look in her eyes.

Abbie felt anger surge through her and crossed her arms. "Still doing his dirty work? Even _here_?"

Andy exhaled, chewing on his bottom lip and looked from Abbie to the kitchen table. "Why don't we sit down, Abbie? You don't look so well, actually."

She put her hands on her hips. No way in hell was she going to sit down and have a friendly chat with him. He had tried to kill her and Ichabod the last time she saw him. Not to mention that he had literally transformed into some kind of demon-creature.

"Well thanks for the compliment, Andy, but I don't want to talk to you. There is nothing you have to say that I want to hear, I promise you. Now, I'm pretty sure you aren't here just to hang, so why don't you get out of here."

She turned back to the window, intent on ignoring him until he gave up and left. She heard him sigh.

"He's giving you a choice," he finally said – so softly that she could have almost convinced herself she had imagined it.

Abbie was so tired and didn't want to play these games any longer. If she had to stay here forever why couldn't they just let her be? She kept her eyes on the dark landscape outside and spoke with purpose. "I already made my choice, Andy. I gave Ichabod my strength so he could live. I sacrificed my life. Isn't that enough?"

The mere mention of Ichabod's name caused the pain to flare to life inside her and it felt like an arrow had pierced her heart. She missed him more than she missed living. He was the moon to her Mother Earth; a constant presence orbiting nearby but never out of sight.

Until now.

"You know Moloch never cared about your life," Andy said softly. "He wants your soul. So he's offering you a new choice: surrender your soul now or…" Andy trailed off causing Abbie to turn and look at him. He looked genuinely concerned.

"Or what?" she asked, and once the question left her lips, she knew she would not like the answer.

Andy looked down at the floor. "_Please_ sit down, Abbie…"

Abbie rushed forward, her anger powering her and grabbed Andy by the collar of his police jacket. She felt an odd strength in her muscles – as though she could have lifted him from the ground if she wanted.

"OR WHAT?!" she bellowed, shaking him.

Andy's eyes went wide and she knew he was afraid, but didn't care. "Or he'll make you wish you had," he said with the finality of a prophecy.

Suddenly, Abbie was back in her kitchen in her apartment on that early morning when Andy had shown up, warning her that Ichabod would betray her. She could distinctly remember the way the morning sun had filtered in through her blinds bathing her apartment in a warm glow and how his words had caused a cold wind to blow through her. The fear and shock she felt that morning washed over her now and she felt nauseous. All the strength left her suddenly and she let Andy go.

Sinking into one of the chairs, she ran her hands over her face trying to get herself together. Whatever had happened was in the past and this was her new reality. The prophecy had come true but Ichabod had not intended to betray her and she knew that now. He had told her he loved her and she believed him. He hadn't wanted to leave her here.

"I will never give Moloch my soul. You know that, Andy," she finally said when she could trust her voice not to waver.

She looked up at him and found that he had taken the seat across from her. He was looking at her with an expression of sadness and pity and it made her angry. Her whole life people had looked at her like that: police officers, social workers, teachers, foster parents, ministers – hell, even store clerks. It never failed to make her feel worthless.

"Abbie, if you do not yield, Moloch will return you to the mortal world."

She felt her breath catch and was certain her heart missed a beat in its rhythm. Moloch would return her? He would let her go back? She could be with Ichabod?

"He'll…return me?" she asked, her voice breathless. Her mind was filled with images of Ichabod and the thought of seeing him again made her dizzy.

Andy shook his head. "It's not as easy as you think, Abbie. Don't you understand what you've done?"

What she'd done? What she'd _done_? What was he talking about? As far as Abbie knew, she had selflessly given her life for Ichabod and now Moloch was going to return her to… And that's when it hit her. What was there to return? Her life was gone; forfeit for the safekeeping of another. She was the lamb – only she had slaughtered herself for another to live.

Andy snickered, switching from concerned to vengeful in a moment. "Now do you get it?" he asked coldly. Behind his voice lie a thousand cruel intentions and accusations waiting to attack. "You gave Ichabod a piece of your _soul_, Abbie. Without it, you will be incomplete in the mortal world. A part of you was shifted to another while in an unearthly place and because of that, you can never be mortal again. Even when you die, a part of you will live on in him. You're not immortal, but you're the closest thing to it. You have no place in the world of the living now. You would only suffer if you were to return."

Abbie felt the nausea return and it seemed as though the room were spinning around her. She put her hands on either side of her head and squeezed her eyes shut. "Why are you doing this?"

"I must do his bidding. You know that. I have no free will, Abbie, but you do," he said sadly. "If you not offer what remains of your soul to Moloch, he will send you back to the world of the living and you _will_ suffer terribly."

Abbie was about to ask how suffering in the mortal world would be any different than her suffering here when she remembered one of the caveats of Purgatory.

"Wait a minute. How can he send me back? There's no one here to take my place."

Andy swallowed hard. "Yes there is. Me."

Abbie opened her eyes, eyebrows raised. "You?"

Andy nodded. "He will make me stay here in your place. I belong to him, Abbie, as much as you do. He can do what he wants with me."

Abbie bristled, feeling the hair raise on the back of her neck. "I don't belong to _anyone_."

Andy shrugged. "Whatever helps you sleep at night…"

"I _don't_ sleep anymore and I don't understand how sending me back to the mortal world will cause me to suffer, either," she said bitterly, his sarcasm getting under her skin.

Andy looked at her for a long time and his eyes were once again full of pity and it just made her want to punch him. In the end, though, she sat still and waited for him to speak.

"You didn't just give Ichabod your 'mortal strength.' You also gave him everything that makes you who you are: your sense of injustice, your willingness to protect the innocent, your need to serve and even the love you feel for him. You literally gave Ichabod yourself."

Suddenly, Andy's words rang true and Abbie wondered if that's why she had been feeling so lost and broken. "Is that why I feel so…"

"Incomplete?" Andy finished.

She nodded, the feeling rising up within her, choking her. If she didn't find a way to control it, Abbie was afraid it would devour her, smothering what was left of her soul.

"If you feel incomplete here, imagine how you would feel back on the other side, Abbie," he said gently. "You'll feel like a ghost among the living; unable to know or find your place in the world or to truly feel and reciprocate love. You will remember those you love and want to feel love for them desperately, but you'll be unable to because that part of you resides in another. You'll remember your bond with Ichabod and Jenny, but you won't be able to completely get it back. Do you really want to feel the torment of the loss of those things forever?"

Abbie looked right at him, her eyes hard. "What's the difference? I'm in torment now. What does it matter where I suffer? At least there I'll be with the people I love."

"Abbie, it'll be worse there! Can't you see?" Andy shouted. His eyes were wild and he ran his hands through his hair. He had gone from concerned to irritated in seconds again. "Everything will be more real there. The depression and regret and pain will make you beg for Moloch to take your soul! You'd most likely end up taking your own life to escape the torture. Is that the future you want?"

Abbie leaned over the table and made sure to look Andy directly in the eyes. She searched for any sign of deception, but found none. Maybe part of him was truly concerned for her and was telling her the truth. Not that it mattered because there was no way she would ever give Moloch her soul.

"Even if you had scared me enough to believe you, I still wouldn't do it, Andy. I can't. I'm still a Witness and Moloch is too desperate. He needs my soul for something. What is it?"

Andy sighed, obviously exasperated and shook his head.

"_Please_, Andy. Tell me," she begged.

"I am taking a _huge_ risk in telling you this, Abbie. Do you understand?"

She nodded, her breath caught on his next words.

Andy closed his eyes and swallowed hard. "Fine, Mills. Moloch needs the 'soul of a Witness' to complete his entrance into the mortal world. He tried to get it all those years ago in the forest. He's never stopped trying."

Abbie felt all the blood drain from her face. She was assaulted by memories of four white trees and four lost days and an entire lost childhood. Her life had been changed forever on that day and she was never the same. That day, Moloch had stolen any chance of a normal life that she and Jenny had ever had and even if the whole of humanity's fate wasn't in her hands, she wouldn't give in to him for that reason alone. He had ruined her life. Jenny's life. Her mother's. She would never stop fighting him.

She wiped a tear away, summoning what courage she had left. "I can't, Andy."

He reached out across the table towards her, mirroring an action Ichabod had done not so long ago in that very place. Abbie took it as a sign that she was making the right decision.

"Abbie, take a minute and think about this. I promise you that you will not be able to love Ichabod back in the mortal world. You will want to more than anything, but it will not happen."

Abbie was unmoved. None of that mattered. She would be with Ichabod. She made herself believe that even if he was with Katrina, she could handle it. She could do whatever was asked of her to keep him safe. She could live out her life alone as long as she was breathing the same air as he was and they could sit together every so often and she could look into his eyes and know that he was alive.

"I'll stay with you, Abbie," Andy said suddenly, his voice thick and she knew he was serious. "I'll stay with you in Purgatory. Forever. You won't be alone."

The promise of eternal companionship stopped her cold for a few seconds. She had been so alone for most of her life and until Ichabod, she had thought it would always be that way. But he had made her realize that maybe there was a future for her that held friendship, understanding, safety and love. If she accepted Andy's offer, it would be a betrayal of everything they had meant to each other. She had only one choice, one decision, one answer.

"I won't do it, Andy. Not ever. While there's breath in my body and even after, Moloch will never have my soul."

The moment the last word was out of her mouth, a horrible black wind blew through the dollhouse, swirling her hair around her face and stealing her breath.

Moloch.

His screams soon overtook the howling of the wind and he shimmered into existence in front of them and inside her last bastion of safety, no matter how untrue it was. She pushed herself to his feet and tried to resist the urge to run and hide. She had to be strong in front of him.

His entire body seemed to vibrate with anger and he was bent low and dangerous, horns glimmering in Purgatory's moonlight.

"You have refused me for the last time! I condemn you to a living death in the mortal world!" he shrieked, the veins in his neck bulging with rage. "You shall never know peace or love or respite! And love will never thrive between the Witnesses!"

Abbie felt his anger almost as though it were a physical blow and the terror it left in its wake made her knees tremble. She kept telling herself that none of what he said mattered because in the end, she would still be with Ichabod. She could keep him safe. It wouldn't matter if she was tortured by her choice for as long as she lived. It wouldn't matter if he chose Katrina and could only see her as a friend. It didn't matter if she yearned forever for that piece of her that was now held within the confines of Ichabod's soul or if she were tormented by not being able to love him. He would be alive and happy and she would find a way to find some joy in the mere presence of his own.

"One day, Abigail," Moloch said, his voice low and tempered and all the more frightening, "you will beg me to take your soul. You will beg for a reprieve from the agony, but even then, I will deny you. I will force you to take your own life to escape from the pain, and then your soul will truly be forfeit to me and be mine for all of eternity."

Abbie shivered, feeling fear skitter down her back like icy fingers and looked to Andy hopefully, but he looked at her evenly, all traces of compassion gone. His eyes were as black and cold as a winter's night.

"I told you I would take care of you. You're on your own now. You always will be. I'm sorry, Abbie."

Instantly, Moloch reached down and grabbed Abbie by her wounded shoulder, his claws tearing into her flesh again. She cried out and felt fresh blood gush from the wound and run down her arm.

He leaned down close to her and looked into her eyes. So close that Abbie could feel his hot, pungent breath on her cheek and she could see the very depths of Hell in his eyes and every evil and degenerate emotion or event or person who had ever existed. They were all there, writhing in the murky abyss of his gaze and it was the most terrifying thing she had ever seen. She felt that if she looked long enough, some of that wickedness would seep into her soul and poison her from within.

Moloch held her in silence like that for a few awful moments before he spoke and all the while Abbie felt his claws sinking deeper – down to the bone of her shoulder – and the pain was almost too much to bear. Only the thought of Ichabod and what she was doing for him kept her silent.

"And the great dragon was cast out!" Moloch bellowed at last and he raised Abbie up even higher. She screamed, the pain rushing through her like electricity, sending fiery flashes out to her fingertips.

Moloch waited not another second before he hurled her against the wall of the dollhouse as hard as he could.

Abbie filled her mind with Ichabod's beautiful face; wanting him to be the last thing she saw because she was certain that she would not survive. She braced herself for the impact and the sound of bones breaking and was surprised when, instead she landed with a soft thud and rolled…

Onto the grass of a baseball field.


	9. Chapter 9 -- Never Let Her Go

The baseball field was quiet and somber at night, swallowed almost whole by long shadows reaching out like eerie fingers. Not much could be made out – save for a speck of white here and there where the bases were. Gone were the laughter and squeals of playing children, the sharp crack of bats and the festive ire of an umpire. At night, it seemed depleted of its energy and vigor and was simply a darkened patch of grass filled with nothing but the remnants of memories; hollow and dim. Ichabod breathed in the musky smell of earth and grass as he wandered past home plate on his way to the bleachers.

Halfway there, he glanced skyward and saw that the moon, tinged slightly with orange, hung low and huge in the night sky. A hunter's moon, his father would have called it; a harbinger of autumn. Ichabod stared up at it and before he could stop it, he wondered if Abbie could see the same moon from Purgatory?

He felt tears threaten at the thought of her and halted his steps. He squeezed his eyes shut, breathing deeply. How could it be a hunter's moon already and still no sign of her? Not one clue. He could not imagine the torture she was going through in Purgatory all this time. What was Moloch doing to her? What was he making her believe? What was she becoming? Did she even remember who she was and that he loved her?

_Four months_ since he had left here there a second time! Four months since he had awakened in the hospital to find only Jenny and Katrina standing over him. Ichabod pressed his fingertips into eyes, rubbing, and tried to calm himself. If he didn't stop the emotions from overwhelming him, he knew very well where it would lead: a complete breakdown into endless tears and wracking sobs. It had happened more times than he cared to count.

Ichabod opened his eyes and willed his feet to move – to start walking again – intent on his destination. He finally reached the bleachers and crawled beneath them, finding it a struggle, as always, to contort his lanky frame to fit. Once there, he sank down, feeling the dewy grass soaking the knees of his trousers. He made sure his back was to the field. He had learned early on that looking at the field only brought up memories that were too powerful to control. Instead, he closed his eyes and reached into his pocket, pulling out Katrina's amulet. Even though it had originally belonged to her, he now only associated it with Abbie. He was uncertain how it was possible, but when Jenny had found him in that coffin, somehow he had the amulet clutched in his hand. Now he looked upon it and allowed his feelings for Abbie to flow from deep within himself.

If he was quiet he knew he would feel her tiny spark hammering against his heart; steel striking flint. It was always there when he was at his lowest and needed comfort; just as she had always been. He focused on just breathing and finally let her face fill his mind, his breath hitching when he saw her in complete.

"Abbie…" Her name slipped from his lips in a sob. He missed her more than the earth would miss the moon; much more than he had ever missed Katrina when they were separated. It was a different kind of missing: an absence of a part of one's soul. He could feel the anguish rise within him, threatening to snuff out that little spark of her as it rested near his heart, when suddenly, a rush of warmth spread over him. As always, that bit of her soul knew when he was at his breaking point and moved to protect and envelop him in its strength and tranquility. That spark grew quickly into a bright ember and warmed his frostbitten heart with her very essence. It was almost as if she were there with him. He could almost feel her small hand on his shoulder, always offering friendship, support and what he now knew was love.

_Almost_.

He shuddered and wondered if he would ever feel Abbie touch him again in the mortal world. Four miserable months had gone by without one word from her. Not a message or even a fleeting glimpse through a mirror. There had been nothing since that first night in the hospital when he had seen her sitting at the kitchen table of the dollhouse; Moloch looming in the background. He could not erase the terrified look on her face from his memory. It haunted him whenever he tried to sleep, making sleep nearly impossible, and that is why he inevitably ended up at the baseball field every night, where he could feel close to her and try to find some measure of peace.

Since he had awakened in the hospital, he and Jenny had managed to forge a new relationship born out of their mutual desire to rescue Abbie. At first, Jenny had been unable to look at him without anger and betrayal burning in her eyes. In her mind, he had abandoned Abbie in favor of bringing Katrina back to the mortal world. He believed that what finally allowed her to trust and believe in him again was that he never denied his grave mistake. Instead he simply told her over and over that he wished he could take back that decision a thousand times and that he had discovered in Purgatory that he loved Abbie more than anything else. He told her enough about what happened when he was in Purgatory that she believed he did not want to leave Abbie that second time. Abbie forced him to go because she thought she was making him happy and now Ichabod had to live with her sacrifice.

Once their friendship was stitched up and on the mend, Jenny had suggested that they should work together to try and find a way to release Abbie from Purgatory. They spent every waking moment in the Archives. There was nowhere else to turn. Henry had never resurfaced since he had revealed himself as the Horseman of War and Katrina's powers were meek at best and her focus wanting. So, Ichabod and Jenny combed through every book and scrap of paper and had exhausted every resource trying to find a way to get Abbie out of Purgatory. They had spent countless hours in the Archives researching possible "loopholes" and had found none. The only thing of any import that they had discovered – hidden away in one of Corbin's books – was that Moloch needed "the soul of a Witness" to complete his journey into the mortal world. Ichabod knew without any doubt that Abbie would never allow such a thing and so he was terrified that he would never see her again.

During this time, Ichabod's health – mental and physical - had steadily worsened and the pain of being without Abbie nearly incapacitated him. He found he was unable to sleep for more than 30 minutes at a time and barely able to find the desire to eat. Jenny usually forced some food into him every day, but he only ate to appease her. Ichabod remembered asking Abbie in Purgatory how it could possibly be right for them to be separated when it would cripple their hearts and now he found himself living out that exact fear. He felt like a hollow shell simply going about the motions of living. There was no desire or thrill inside; no real life.

"Crane, I'm worried about you," Jenny had said to him two months after he had left the hospital. They sat in the Archives pouring over large tomes and her eyes had roamed over his entire frame, head to boots. "I know you miss Abbie. So do I. And I know you love her, but this is more than a broken heart. It's a physical debilitation."

He had looked at her sideways, one eyebrow raised and said, "I assure you I am well, Miss Jenny. I will not let you down should it come to a physical confrontation."

"That's not what I'm worried about, Crane, and you know it," she had replied, sighing. "The rate you're going, you won't be alive when we DO get Abbie back. You gotta pull yourself out of this tailspin."

"I told you before that I was not certain I would survive without her," he had answered softly, the pain slicing at his heart mercilessly. "However, I am trying to hold on."

Jenny had reached over and covered his hand with hers. "Try _harder, Crane_. For Abbie."

He had promised he would try, and so began their routine. During the day, he and Jenny worked together in the Archives, while at night, Jenny would retire to try and get some rest and Ichabod would go to Corbin's cabin, ostensibly to do the same. Katrina had stayed there for a fortnight upon her return, but she was no longer there and for that, Ichabod was grateful, for he could no longer bear even the sight of her.

Soon after he had escaped the hospital, Katrina had tried to reconcile with him, but she had quickly ascertained it was hopeless. Ichabod knew from the moment he had awakened in the hospital that his heart was completely given over to Abbie and there was no longer any room for Katrina, except possibly as a friend. He had tried to treat her as an ally in his and Jenny's fight to save Abbie, but a month into their search it had all gone to pieces.

They had found nothing of any import and Jenny was worried that the trail was growing cold. So, in a moment of desperation, Ichabod played the card he had been holding close to his vest since Katrina had come back and asked her to try and return to Purgatory; to exchange places with Abbie as had been planned.

But Katrina had flatly refused, saying it was no longer possible because of what Abbie had done. She had insisted that when Abbie made her decision to give Ichabod her mortal strength, she had sealed her fate. There was no way around it, nor a way to reverse it. She could not simply exchange places with Abbie again and she did not believe that Abbie could ever leave Purgatory. Ichabod remembered staring at her and never feeling so cold in his entire life. He had always thought Katrina a kind and caring woman, but there had been no emotion in her eyes when she had spoken of Abbie's plight. Looking into her green cat's eyes, any small scrap of sentiment he had still felt for her had died in that moment; trampled by her utter callousness. In a desolate rage, he had demanded that she remove herself from his presence and told Jenny that he wished to never speak to her again. He had barely been aware of Jenny quickly rushing Katrina from the Archives.

Ichabod only remembered the vagaries of Katrina's life after that moment. He supposed Jenny had told him, but he had barely been listening. Those conversations were merely the blurred background strokes in a portrait where Abbie was the sharply drawn subject.

Apparently, even though Jenny had held a great dislike for Katrina initially, in the end, she had taken pity and helped her rent a room at the local motel and got her a job at an eating establishment as a barmaid of a sort. He also recalled Jenny mentioning that Katrina had been reticent at first, but soon the utter boredom of life without purpose had her climbing the walls and she agreed.

Ichabod had not seen Katrina since and had no desire to do so. Just the sound of her name and all he could picture was Abbie being tortured by Moloch and screaming his name. Ever since she had rejected his idea of her returning to Purgatory, the very sight of Katrina only reminded him that Abbie was there in her stead and he had been the one to help place her there. A decision he feared would haunt him forever.

So at night, he was almost always unable to find any rest and inevitably, he would set out on foot to the baseball field – "their field." It was there that he felt closest to Abbie and the place where the memento of her that he carried secreted away inside could commune with him most easily.

An owl hooted in the distance, and Ichabod started, brought out of his reverie. He opened his eyes and was not altogether surprised to see Miss Jenny standing in front of him. After all, she seemed to come here most every night to collect him and return him to the cabin.

"Crane…" Her tone was admonishing.

He sighed deeply, annoyance hiding behind his breath. "Miss Jenny, it is not your responsibility to seek me out every evening and return me to my humble abode."

Jenny raised her eyebrows and bent down, hands resting on her knees, trying to make eye contact. "Maybe I wouldn't have to, Crane, if you stopped hiding under—"

"I am NOT hiding," he interrupted, his voice sharp, eyes focused on a point in the distance. "I am…meditating."

She smirked. "Okay, I wouldn't have to come and get you if you stopped _meditating_ under the bleachers in the middle of the night. I don't think that qualifies as normal behavior. If Abbie were here, she'd never let you…"

Jenny trailed off, apparently realizing her error and her face twisted into a painful mask, eyes shining with tears. She stood back up, running her hands over her face quickly and exhaling a shaky breath.

"I'm sorry," she said softly, a tear slipping down her cheek. "I'm just…worried about you. I feel like it's my job to look out for you while…" She broke off in half of a sob and took a deep breath. "You _know_…"

Ichabod looked at Jenny, trying to be so brave in the face of agony and suddenly felt a great kinship with her. Abbie's captivity was traumatic for both of them. They were both navigating the same disaster in different ways, but still, there was a camaraderie born of a shared journey. They were not much different than soldiers surviving a war together.

"I understand, Miss Jenny. I do not mean to cause you any unease."

Jenny nodded. "Anyway, I came out here for another reason tonight. I've got some news."

At her words, Ichabod scrambled out from under the bleachers as quickly as his height would allow and tried to fix his appearance, smoothing out his coat and trousers. "Have you found something? Is there a way to reach her?"

Jenny's face fell and she looked away for a moment and that's when Ichabod knew that whatever she was about to tell him was nothing good. In fact, he was almost certain it would be something quite awful. He felt as if his heart seized in mid-beat, its next actions waiting on her words.

"No, no, I wish that were the case. I got a call tonight from the new Sheriff. Her name is Reyes. Anyway, she told me that as of tonight, they are officially calling off their search and rescue operation for Abbie."

She looked back up at him, and he knew she was waiting to see what affect her words would have. But he found that what she had told him was not as bad as he had been expecting and his heart went on beating. What did the police search for Abbie truly have to do with them? They were looking for her in warehouses and rivers and culverts and she was in none of those places. She was not in the mortal world, but only he and Jenny knew that. If they called off their search, it did not impact his and Jenny's work. He looked back at her placidly and told her as much.

She nodded, her eyes sad. "There's more," she said, her voice hesitant and wobbly. "Sheriff Reyes isn't just calling off the search. She's declaring what happened to Abbie an 'accidental death,' Crane. I guess she's being pushed to explain her disappearance somehow. You know, public relations and all. It'll be handed over to detectives. So, what this means is that, as far as Reyes is concerned, Abbie is…dead."

Ichabod felt like his world had been knocked off its axis and everything around him spun and careened wildly; a morbid kaleidoscope. His eyes swam shut as he fought to maintain his balance. Instantly, he felt a steadying hand on his shoulder.

"Take it easy, Crane. Just breathe."

Jenny's voice was soft but firm and he latched onto it – like a rock in a raging river – and tried to keep his head above water. He was horrified at the idea that everyone else would think Abbie was dead. The piece of her inside him wailed at the very notion, crying out in agony; its warmth frozen over into ice in moments and he felt his heart and soul doing the same.

"I wish you had never found me; never saved me from the coffin," he said, opening his eyes to look down at her brokenly. He leaned on her for support so his knees would not give out.

"Crane, you don't mean that." Her voice was rough with shock.

He nodded. "I do. I do mean it. I wish I had died before you found me so that I could be with Abbie. You've said it yourself I am…withering without her – both in body and mind. I shall never forgive myself for leaving her there to suffer and be tortured by that demon, simply due to my selfish wish to save Katrina."

Jenny touched his hand. "You told me yourself you didn't want to leave her."

"The _second_ time," he amended. "But the first time, I never even looked back at her. I simply made her an empty promise I hoped I could keep and took Katrina's hand and walked through the portal. I was so blinded by my need to try and do right by Katrina that I willingly stranded Abbie there and I shall live in torment the rest of my life because of my folly. And you wonder why I cannot be in Katrina's presence? Katrina is a permanent reminder of my betrayal of Abigail. The mere sight of her sickens me! She is here because Abbie is not and that is a violation of all that is good and right."

Jenny took hold of his hand then, her grip firm and looked right into his eyes. "Now you listen to me, Crane! None of that matters now! Nothing Reyes does matters. We have got to regroup and try and find Abbie, no matter—"

Whatever she was going to say next was cut off by a thunderous crash and the sounds of shattering glass from the middle of the field. They were both knocked to the ground from the force and when Ichabod opened his eyes, he was surprised that all he saw was the darkness of night. He had been expecting a fire of some sort or rubble lying all around them. They had their back to the pitcher's mound and did not see what caused the noise. Ichabod scrambled to his feet, helping Jenny as best he could and they both took off running towards the direction of the noise.

As they came around the bleachers, it was obvious to Ichabod that there was a body lying in the field between third base and home plate. He could not imagine how it had gotten there. The night was dark and he could only make out the silhouette, but the body was small and feminine and somewhere deep inside that tiny speck of Abbie flashed to life and cried out.

He knew it was her.

He sprinted the last few yards and fell to his knees on the ground next to her, turning her over. What he saw terrified him and he felt his body go ice cold – as if he had jumped into a winter river. Her face was covered in a hideous mottling of bruises and cuts that barely hid her sunken cheeks and sallow complexion. His eyes were next drawn to her left shoulder and the wound there that he remembered only too well. Only it looked worse than before – perhaps cut down to the bone now – and endless rivulets of blood were running down her arm to soak the ground beneath. Bending down closer, his cheek almost touching hers, he waited to feel a puff of air as it exited her nose and was stricken to realize she wasn't breathing.

"JENNY!" he screamed. "She's not breathing!"

"I'm here," Jenny rasped, pushing him aside to start CPR. As she did the chest compressions, Ichabod watched as tears ran down her cheeks. "Don't you DARE give up now, Abbie!" she shrieked. "Breathe!"

Jenny bent down and puffed two breaths of air into her sister's mouth, waited, and then began the compressions again.

Ichabod knelt behind Jenny and watched in an almost detached state, his hand covering his mouth in horror. He felt as though everything was moving slowly. He knew with perfect clarity that if they lost Abbie at this moment, nothing would stop him from returning to the cabin and using one of Corbin's guns to follow her. And if he could not find a gun, then a sword would do, or a rope. The method did not matter; only the destination. Losing her three times would be the end of him.

All of a sudden, Abbie choked and sputtered and coughed and Ichabod felt the world lurch back into normal speed. He was beside her in an instant, her hand in his.

"Abbie, can you hear me?" he asked softly, but her eyes weren't open. She was barely breathing. "What do we do?" he asked, looking up at Jenny. "Should you call the 'mobile doctors?'"

Jenny smoothed some hair back from Abbie's face gently and shook her head. She was shaking. "We can't chance it. We don't have Irving on our side anymore. Reyes would have too many questions that we don't have the ability to explain if she found her like this. I have Abbie's Jeep. We'll take her to the hospital ourselves and come up with a cover story on the way."

Ichabod nodded his assent and bent down, easily scooping Abbie up in his arms. He looked down and saw the large red stain on the grass and was panicked at the amount of blood she had lost. Even though she was breathing, he knew they didn't have much time. Her body felt cold and rigid against his and the relic of her that hid inside him was dismayed to say the least. They rushed across the field and over to the Jeep. Jenny opened the back door for him and he placed Abbie inside first and then got in, cradling her against him, trying his best to also hold pressure against her wound.

Jenny was already in the driver's seat and turned the key, firing the beast to life. She caught Ichabod's eyes in the rearview mirror. "You got her?"

He nodded solemnly, his arm tightening around her. "I do and I shall never let her go again."


	10. Chapter 10 -- Farewell, My Love

The hospital hallway was grey and dim – lifeless – and Ichabod felt like the walls were closing in on him. He had not been in many hospitals since he had awakened in this new time, but already he had a great distaste for them. They seemed apathetic and impersonal and a place where no healing of any kind could take place. Sighing loudly he turned on his heel, like a good soldier, and began his hundredth trip back down the hallway.

He had been pacing for hours, but could not find it within himself to sit. Sitting led to thinking, which led to worrying, which would quickly lead to madness because so far, they had been told nothing about Abigail's condition. He was tortured by thoughts that she had bled to death and he hadn't gotten the chance to tell her goodbye or that he would be with her again soon.

Intensifying his pace, he continued down the hall, looking down at Jenny as he passed. She was slumped in a chair, her head back and eyes closed. She had her vest wadded up behind her head as a pillow, and had been that way for the better part of an hour now and he could only hazard a guess that her thoughts were much the same as his. Perhaps he should sit and talk with her? Perchance it would bring them both a measure of peace?

His thoughts were on what to say, when suddenly, someone came careening around the corner, running full on into him and making him lose his footing momentarily.

When he recovered, he looked up to find himself staring into green eyes he had not seen for the better part of three months.

Katrina.

He could barely manage to keep from leaving immediately. Just the sight of her made him feel queasy and his self-hatred roiled, making him feel slightly dizzy. Only the thought that the doctor could come out at any moment with news of Abbie kept him still.

"Abigail has returned?" she asked, slightly out of breath, her eyes wide. If she noticed his reaction to her, she paid it no mind and did not make it obvious in her expression.

Ichabod was slightly shocked to see her in modern dress: hair loose with dark jeans, a long red tunic and a black leather jacket.

A jacket similar to one that Abbie owned.

He swallowed the lump in his throat and merely nodded, falling back on his familiar, protective soldier's pose: hands behind his back.

"Yeah, we found her at the baseball field. She's in really bad shape," Jenny supplied, wiping her face in an apparent attempt to rouse herself.

Katrina heard, but seemed to have eyes only for Ichabod. Her expression was one of astonishment. "Ichabod, your face…it's so pale…and you look malnourished. Are you not eating?"

Ichabod was not shocked that she was surprised. She truly did not understand the depth of his feelings for Abbie or she would not have asked the question. He tried to keep his voice calm as he answered, his jaw clenched. "I have not had much of an appetite since Miss Mills has been missing."

Katrina nodded and took a step back at his quiet tone, her hands fiddling nervously with the edges of her tunic. Perhaps something of the truth was finally reaching her. "You discovered her at the…baseball field, you said? Why were you both there? Research?"

"Crane goes there almost every night," Jenny blurted before Ichabod could answer.

He turned and shot her a dark glare. Why in the world would she ever tell Katrina such information? She looked back sheepishly and shrugged.

"Whatever for?" Katrina asked.

Ichabod hesitated just a moment before answering. "Miss Mills once brought me there as an amusing diversion. It has special…_meaning_ for us. I went there to feel closer to her."

Katrina looked as though she had been slapped. "I see."

Ichabod turned back to Jenny, a thought suddenly occurring to him. "The fact that she was returned to that very place must mean something. Before I left Purgatory, she told me that if I were to think of her, I should think of her there. It cannot be mere coincidence that she reappeared at that very spot."

Jenny nodded and Ichabod watched as an expression of confusion settled on her features as Katrina sat down next to her.

Ichabod was equally perplexed. "May I ask what you are doing?" He was quite sure that Jenny was wondering the same thing.

Katrina looked up at him, pain clearly evident in her jade eyes. When she spoke, her voice was thick with it. "You may not believe it, my love, but I do care about Abigail. I never wanted her to remain in Purgatory. I do not understand how she has returned, but the fact remains that she has. So if it is agreeable, I would like to remain and wait with you both until we discern her condition."

Ichabod looked to Jenny. She merely shrugged and he knew that she was too tired to argue or force Katrina to go, and he was, as well. So he relented. "As you wish."

They waited like that for another hour: Jenny and Katrina in the chairs while Ichabod paced and brooded. Katrina and Ichabod did not speak to each other. They barely breathed. Ichabod found the whole situation completely inappropriate. In truth, what could he and Katrina possibly converse about? The whole scenario was so bizarre it was almost laughable.

Almost.

Perhaps if Abbie weren't in the other room fighting for her life, they could have shared pleasantries. Perhaps if Abbie hadn't been the captive of a demon for four months and hadn't been tortured and abused by that same demon for those four months, they could have gone to the cafeteria for a cup of coffee. Conceivably, if Abbie hadn't been in Purgatory because she had bravely taken Katrina's place out of misplaced trust, they could have sat together and prayed.

But Abbie _was_ in the next room fighting for her life and she _had_ been held captive and tortured and she _had_ taken Katrina's place in Purgatory, and so, Katrina and Ichabod were the last two in the world to ever be friends again.

Suddenly, the doors at the end of the hall swished open and the doctor came out. He was younger, with thick dark hair combed back from his face. His eyes were a dark coffee brown and seemed kind. His dark green scrubs were littered with blood and just the sight of him brought Jenny immediately to Ichabod's side, her hand clenched around his forearm. Katrina stayed back, but close enough to hear.

"Is she all right?" Jenny asked, her voice tremulous.

Ichabod held his breath, waiting for what the doctor would say. His next words would determine the course of his life. They were all that mattered.

"The worst of your sister's injuries was her shoulder," he said, his voice thick from fatigue. "She presented with extremely deep lacerations – all the way to the bone – and needed surgery to repair the damage. She lost a lot of blood – before and during the operation. I'm sorry you were waiting so long, but the surgery was difficult. I'm actually not certain how she survived the amount of blood she lost."

He ran a hand through his hair and untied the mask that had been below his chin, shoving it into his pocket. "Her other injuries were not life-threatening, just cuts and bruises. Her arm will be in a sling for weeks, though, and I hate to say this, but I'm not sure if she'll ever have normal use of her shoulder again. We'll just have to wait and see. She will need extensive physical therapy once the wound has healed. You can go and see her now, if you like. She is not awake, but resting comfortably."

He turned and walked back through the door, never looking back.

Jenny and Ichabod moved as one to follow the doctor and then they both stopped suddenly, looking at each other.

Katrina.

"Miss Jenny, please go on ahead. I will follow directly."

Jenny looked from Ichabod to Katrina and quickly mouthed "I'm sorry" to her before she turned and slipped through the door.

Ichabod turned to Katrina, his blue eyes bright with barely checked anger. "I do not think you should be there when Miss Mills first awakens," he said, his voice even and emotionless.

Katrina pulled on her jacket, nodding as a tear slipped down her cheek. "And that is the crux of all of our discord, is it not? You do not think I should be here _at all_."

Ichabod took a deep breath and retreated again to his familiar posture – soldier at ease. It was his armor.

"Katrina, you know very well my feelings on the matter. We made a bargain with the Lieutenant. She was _never_ supposed to remain in Purgatory for any length of time and certainly not forever. She trusted us and we deceived her. Not to mention the many lies you told me as easily as you took to breathing – the greatest of which was the very existence of our son!"

Katrina looked at him sadly, tears shining in her eyes. "They were not lies, Ichabod. They were half-truths meant to protect you."

Ichabod looked at her sideways, eyebrow raised. "A marriage cannot be built upon a debate of semantics, Katrina. It seems that everything you do and say has a hidden agenda or meaning. As did your promise to Miss Mills."

"Ichabod, I would have gone back to Purgatory if it had been possible. I swear it! But it was no longer a viable option after she made her choice."

He nodded, looking at her coldly. "So you say…and yet, here she is."

Katrina took a step back, obviously shaken by his demeanor. When she spoke, it was softly and carefully. "No matter what you believe, I never wanted that to be her fate and I certainly never wished her to be harmed."

Ichabod stared at her, shaking his head. "I can only tell you what I know, Katrina, and that is that when I look at you now, all I see is our betrayal of the Lieutenant. We did a great injustice to her and must live with that, and I don't know how I will ever be able to forget it. Your very countenance is a living memorial to our sin."

At his words, something shined in her eyes for a moment and she moved closer to him, her hand outstretched. Ichabod shrank back instantly, his eyes wide, unsure of her intent.

Katrina froze and stood there, looking into his eyes for a few moments and he felt as though she were desperately searching for something which no longer lived. She sought a dead thing that he no longer cared to try and revive, for another had taken its place inside, deep inside, next to his heart. The vestige of Abbie burned brightly and proudly from within and around him and blotted out anything else. It seemed to proclaim its possession of him as clearly as if it had a voice. He could feel it growing stronger now that he knew Abbie would survive.

Katrina seemed to sense this and nodded, stepping away from him again. "I see now that there is truly no hope for us. You have changed, Ichabod, on a basic level. Your very heart beats a different rhythm now. You love Abigail in a way that is much stronger than how you ever felt about me. It is an affinity of souls; a sameness of ilk. It is plain to see. I would call it beautiful if it did not hurt me so."

Ichabod sighed. "Katrina—"

She cut him off, raising her hands. "No, I understand now. You are correct. This is not my place. I will go."

She turned to leave, but Ichabod's hand on her arm stopped her. He looked at her more gently than he had since he awakened in the very same hospital four months ago.

"You must believe I never meant to harm you. I am truly sorry that I made vows to you that I can no longer keep. My heart and soul belong to Abbie and I am bound to her in a way far more profound than a simple ceremony. There is nothing that can change that and I cannot in good faith live a life that would be tantamount to a hoax."

Katrina looked stricken and her face paled, but she managed a nod. "I would expect nothing less from the great Ichabod Crane."

Ichabod looked at her strangely, uncertain if her words were the truth or meant as an insult. He was about to speak when he heard the door swish again and Jenny stepped out.

"Crane, are you coming?"

Ichabod turned and looked back at Jenny quickly, nodding. He glanced once more at Katrina and saw she was wiping a tear from her cheek. Without another word, he turned and walked through the doors with Jenny.

Before the door swished shut gently, he heard Katrina softly speak three words that would have been his complete undoing 250 years earlier: "Farewell, my love."


	11. Chapter 11 -- Phantom Heart

**A/N: I am SO sorry for the insanely long timespan between chapters, but I just ran into a block with this story for awhile. I could NOT figure out where it was going. But, I'm back and I have my outline figured out and I'm determined to finish it!**

**For those who don't remember, a short primer on this story:**

**-Takes place directly after Season 1 finale**

**-Ichabod loses consciousness in the coffin and journeys to Purgatory, meeting up with Abbie.**

**-Abbie believes that by giving Ichabod her "mortal strength" she can keep him alive in the coffin long enough for Jenny to rescue him. By doing this, she is cut loose from life and essentially dead. She does not realize that when she does this, she also gives him a piece of her soul. Ichabod can sense this piece and sees the "real" Abbie.**

**-Ichabod is rescued by Jenny and wakes up in the hospital, heartbroken to realize that Abbie gave her life for his. He vows to try and save her and exact his revenge upon Moloch.**

**-Abbie is offered a choice by Moloch through Andy Brooks: give him her soul or he will send her back to the mortal world where she will be incomplete since Ichabod possesses a vital part of her soul. She will be unable to feel love for anyone in her life. She will be in constant agony.**

**-Ichabod and Jenny have spent four months trying to find a way to save Abbie, without any luck. They are at the baseball field one night when Abbie suddenly reappears. They rush her to the hospital. At the hospital, Ichabod confesses to Katrina that he no longer loves her, but Abbie.**

**And here we go!  
**

* * *

Abbie awoke with a start, as though from a nightmare, and gasping for air. Immediately, she looked around for Moloch, thinking he had to be lurking nearby. Her heart pounded against her ribs like a jackhammer, so intense was the fear flooding her body. She knew she couldn't withstand another encounter with him right now. She was far too weak.

Cover. She needed to find cover. Taking a deep breath, she tried to get a bearing on her surroundings. The last thing she remembered was Moloch flinging her towards the wall of the dollhouse. Where was she now? Definitely not the dollhouse – that much she knew. The room was dark, and it was then that she realized she was lying down. The longer she took in her surroundings, the more she knew she was in a hospital of some kind. Or rather, a place that _appeared_ to be a hospital. Was this another trick of Moloch's? Abbie blinked furiously and was frustrated to find her vision hazy at best.

Immediately, she wished that Ichabod were there with her. His face flashed in her mind, and she had to choke back a sob. At times, it amazed her how quickly she had come to depend on him and count on him to be at her side. Being without him was extremely jarring and just felt wrong to her in every way.

She turned to the left and was shocked to see the young version of Jenny sitting in a chair against the wall next to her bed, her head at an odd angle, eyes closed. Her skirt was perfectly pressed, pleats neat and tidy and her shirt was crisply white in the dark room, almost as though a spotlight were shining on her. An odd mixture of happiness and terror swirled within Abbie, for she truly had missed the girl, but if she was with _this_ Jenny, it could mean nothing good for her soul. Had she truly died, then? Had Moloch finally killed her? Abbie could think of no other explanation for being back with the young memory version of her sister.

She tried to reach out to Jenny with her left hand, but stopped short when searing pain shot through her shoulder. It felt like someone was jabbing a hot poker into her shoulder all the way to the bone and it took her breath away. She gasped and shut her eyes tight against the pain, unable to focus on anything else. Abbie wondered if she was in another realm besides Purgatory, because her injuries had never been so excruciating in the dollhouse. This pain felt too immediate; too real. Breathing slowly, she waited, hoping the pain would subside enough for her to be able to concentrate on more important things. When it became bearable, she forced her eyes open and as her vision cleared, she found herself looking at the adult version of her sister sleeping in the hard plastic hospital chair.

The _real_ Jenny.

Though less than before, her shoulder still throbbed painfully, and for the first time, she looked down at her body and saw that her left shoulder was heavily bandaged all the way down to her elbow and in a sling. Numerous IV's snaked into and around her and she could feel bruises and cuts on her face and body.

But anything physical paled in comparison to the emotional tumult that suddenly crashed over the shores of her soul. She felt the most all-encompassing agony right in the middle of her chest where her heart should have been. It felt like a huge wrecking ball had smashed into her and stolen her heart, leaving only jagged rocks behind that were ripping and tearing and shredding her soul to pieces as she watched. An intrinsic and crucial part of her soul was missing from her and though she could not give that part a name or had ever noticed it existence before, she knew that it was gone.

Abbie seemed poised on the verge of huge, wracking sobs at every moment, but somehow she knew that she would never find the release that tears bring. This was what Moloch had foretold: a living death in the mortal world. There was a raw, gaping anguish thriving inside her, pulsating with hurt and terror. So immense was the effect that she felt paralyzed by it and had to take a few moments to compose herself enough to be able to breathe normally and withstand the constant onslaught.

Suddenly, Jenny sighed and her eyes opened slowly. They looked glassy and faraway to Abbie – as if she were still caught in the last twilight moments of sleep. Jenny looked around slowly, rubbing her face with her hands and finally her gaze came to rest on Abbie. The moment it did her eyes went wide and she scrambled from the chair to kneel by the bed.

"Oh my god! Abbie! You're awake! Thank God!" She leaned in and hugged her gently.

The instant she felt the contact, Abbie's whole body went rigid and she was overwhelmed by the urge to pull back – if only because Jenny's closeness made the ache in her chest explode like a sunburst into searing pain. Abbie would have done anything to make it stop. The pain obliterated every other sensation and because of it, she couldn't feel the same relief and happiness that Jenny obviously did. All Abbie could feel was hopelessness and emptiness – the deep sorrow at the missing part of her. It was as though there was a great wide expanse of desolate prairie inside her that was tearing at her soul and there was nowhere for her to hide and nothing for company except a cold wind.

She knew Jenny felt that something was off – something was wrong. She pulled back to look her in the eyes, searching. "Abbie, what's wrong?"

Before Abbie could begin to even formulate an excuse, the door swished open and Ichabod was standing in the doorway, his body outlined by the light from the hallway. Her breath caught in her throat at the sight of him. She hadn't seen him in so long – what felt like years.

"Abbie!" he gasped, dropping the cups of coffee he had been carrying. They plummeted to the ground, coffee splashing all over the floor and his trouser legs, but he paid it no mind. He was by her side in two strides, and took her hand reverently. His eyes were filled with adoration and unshed tears and his face was lit by a bright smile.

"You don't know how I've missed you," he said, kissing the back of her hand softly.

Abbie flinched at the contact, the pain she had felt at Jenny's touch multiplying exponentially at his. If Jenny's touch had felt like a sunburst, then Ichabod's felt like she was being consumed by the sun. Tendrils of pain shot through her body from where his fingers touched her hand and she almost lost her breath at the sheer power of it. The longing and desperation his touch conjured was unlike anything she had experienced in her hard life. Abbie was certain she would die if he continued to hold her hand – if only because she had missed it so much and the sting of knowing she would never fully be able to appreciate it again was more than she could handle.

Ichabod looked at her with suddenly wounded eyes, obviously noticing her reaction, and placed her hand on the bed. He took a step back, giving her just enough air and space to wrest control back from the dark feelings that had threatened to overwhelm her.

"I've exceeded my bounds," he said softly, his voice pale. He took up his protective stance – a soldier at ease. "You have just returned, Abbie. I apologize."

Abbie shook her head quickly, squeezing her eyes shut to hold back hot, stinging tears. This is what she had wanted, wasn't it? To be near Ichabod, no matter the cost? "No, no, it's ok, Crane. It's just me. I'm sorry. I'm sorry," she said, rubbing her eyes with her shaking hands.

Ichabod looked at her in shock, his expression pained. "_Crane_?"

Abbie did not understand his meaning, but before she could reply, Jenny moved quickly and put a hand on his arm. Jenny looked at Ichabod, her creased brow the only giveaway to her concern.

Abbie looked away, barely hearing what she said. Just looking at the two people who meant the most to her was like a knife in her guts. How would she ever be able to be around them every day? Already it felt like she was dying inside and it had only been a few minutes.

"She did kind of the same thing when I hugged her," Jenny whispered to Ichabod. "I don't know what's wrong."

Abbie felt a light touch on her elbow and looked back to Ichabod. She noticed anew how incredibly handsome he was: high cheekbones, perfectly straight nose, tousled hair and piercing blue eyes. He was so beautiful to her that she feared her heart would stop at the sight of him – as though an arrow had been shot through her chest.

But then, as she looked closer, she saw that his skin was pale, he had dark circles under his eyes, and his face was thinner than she had ever seen it. As was the rest of him, judging by the way his clothes hung on his frame. He had always filled out his Revolutionary-era garb quite nicely and now he looked as though he'd been off at war for years. Why did he look as though he had been right with her in Purgatory this whole time? Hadn't Jenny been taking care of him? As soon as she was able, one of her first orders of business would be to get him looking healthy again.

But even through all of that, she still saw the beautiful soul that lived within and could sense immediately that he loved her. She would have known it even if he hadn't declared his feelings when they were in Purgatory. It exuded from his entire body like an aura, and she _knew_ she had loved him, as well, and told him as much. Just moments ago, it seemed. Seconds, it had to be. But now all she could feel when she searched inside was the same grief and emptiness she had with Jenny – only with him it was even worse because she was dying to feel that love again. With him, it was far more painful. It felt like his very face was a bullet ripping through her heart. It was as though she had lost something very important and could almost remember what it had felt like, but the memory was just beyond her reach. Their love was a phantom limb that only bore the pale memories of what once was – not the true brilliance. She wanted that love back more than she wanted her next breath, but at that moment, Abbie couldn't figure a way to find it no matter how hard she tried. All she knew for certain at that moment was that she would do her best to never hurt him and would do anything he asked of her, if only to keep that sad expression from his face.

"I'll be ok," she finally managed. "I just have to get used to it again…being here…in the mortal world. Just give me some time."

"Of course, of course. How do you feel?" Ichabod asked, moving closer. He hesitantly picked her hand up again, but this time, there was no gallant kiss. It took all the meager strength she had to weather the waves of anguish that rolled over her as their hands touched. She managed somehow to stop herself from recoiling, for his sake.

Abbie swallowed dryly. How could she answer that question? How did she feel? She felt lost and broken and buried deep and so, so hollow of any sensations except pain. She was terrified it would overpower her and drive her to take drastic action to alleviate it. And that was just what Moloch wanted, but she couldn't tell them any of that yet. They wouldn't understand; weren't ready for it. She needed time to find the best way to explain it. So she did the only thing she could at the time: she told them part of the truth.

"I'm just tired and my shoulder hurts like hell. How long was I gone?"

At her question, Jenny and Ichabod exchanged glances and she knew that the answer would be bad. She braced herself for it.

"Ahh…you were 'missing' for just a little over…four months," Ichabod answered softly.

Abbie felt like she had been punched in the stomach and her heart monitor began beeping at a frantic pace. Her breath came in short gasps that were quickly leading to hysterical sobs. "Four months? Four months?!"

Ichabod looked at the monitors, his face panicked. "Please try to remain calm, Abbie. It will do you no good to become distraught."

Unknowing of what it did to her, he stroked her cheek gently and her heart rate increased, tears filling her eyes. She could not bear for him to touch her because it only reminded her of what she could not feel. She wanted to _feel_ love when he touched her and she knew that was the one thing she couldn't do. It was more misery than she had ever experienced. It was like drowning in a cold, black expanse of water, her heart hungering to feel love the way her lungs would hunger for air.

"Should we call the doctor?" Ichabod asked, looking to Jenny, his eyes wild with fright.

"I'll go get her," Jenny said, rushing out the door.

Unable to handle his touch any longer, Abbie pulled her hand from his under the guise of trying to push herself up to a sitting position. But the moment she put weight on her left shoulder, fiery pain shot through her, points of light exploding before her eyes. Strangely she was thankful, because at least the physical pain was a distraction from her inner emotional turmoil. She sank back onto the bed, tears streaming down her face, her whole body shaking.

Ichabod wiped some of her tears away and looked at her sadly. "I cannot bear seeing you like this, Abbie. You are tearing my heart to pieces. Please, please try to calm yourself. I promise you that you are safe now. I shall never let Moloch hurt you again."

His words grabbed her attention somehow and it was then that she remembered that she was there to protect Ichabod. She was there to stop Moloch from hurting Ichabod so that he would be able to avert the apocalypse. If she allowed Moloch's prediction to come true and let these dark emotions control her, then Moloch would win. She would end up committing suicide to escape the regret and desolation that the loss of her ability to love wrought. She had given Ichabod part of her soul freely and would do so again if it meant he continued to live. If she let her courage desert her now simply because she wanted that piece back so she could love him again, everything she had sacrificed would be in vain.

Ichabod deserved better. If she couldn't truly love him, she could still do right by him and do everything in her power to keep him safe. If that meant she had to suffer the rest of her life, so be it.

Abbie looked at him, watching her so fondly, and felt a tingle in the middle of her chest – her phantom heart fluttering wildly – the only memento she had left telling her that there had been something wondrous between them. She had to let that be enough for her and she had to learn to deal with the excruciating pain his nearness and touch engendered.

Ichabod was silent as she composed herself and a few moments later, he said, "Feeling improved?"

Abbie nodded and by the time Jenny burst through the door with the doctor in tow, all of her monitors were back to normal. Jenny was huffing from being out of breath and looked at the monitors then back to the doctor, who was obviously perturbed.

"I swear, doctor, her blood pressure was through the roof when I came to get you!" she said, dismayed.

"We got this. Crane helped me remember," Abbie said softly, looking up at him sadly. He looked back at her quizzically, but did not let on in any other way that he was confused.

The doctor crossed her arms, her face stern. Her dark hair was pulled up into a tight bun and her green eyes were hard. She moved towards Abbie and quickly scanned the monitors, then turned back to Jenny. "Miss Mills, please make sure there is an actual emergency the next time you drag me away from my duties."

The doctor turned and with a swish of the door, she was gone.

Ichabod looked immediately to Abbie. "I am glad to have been able to assist you, Abigail, but I am at a loss as to what I actually did," he said. He reached for her hand again, but she deftly moved hers to gingerly touch her wounded shoulder, pretending to inspect the damage.

"Isn't it enough to know that you did help me?" she asked absently, as she looked up at the ceiling and chewed on her bottom lip – anything to avoid seeing what she knew would be Ichabod's crestfallen look. She knew that he knew she didn't want him to hold her hand and she was afraid he was coming up with his own reasons why. If only she could tell him the truth!

But she had quickly come to the realization that she could _never_ tell him the truth. If she did, he would move heaven and earth and all of Purgatory to try and set things right – even if it meant his ultimate demise. Crane would never let her languish in torment because it meant he would be safe. So, she could never tell him what was really wrong. She could never tell him that because he had a part of her soul locked away inside his own, she was incomplete and not truly alive in the same way he was. A part of her lived inside another and that fact rendered her a ghost of sorts and ghosts could not love in the way a truly living person could. She only hoped he didn't remember that a remnant of her was a stowaway inside his heart. If he ever found out that her gift of life to him meant a living death for her, he would never stop trying to set things right and that was a dangerous path.

Sighing, she finally looked back to Ichabod and her earlier vow to never hurt him came back to her as she saw pain shining in his sky blue eyes. She had broken her promise already and she had only woken up a few minutes ago. Her gaze flicked over to Jenny and she saw the same wounded expression in her eyes, as well.

"I'm sorry. I know I'm screwing everything up and I'm not acting right-"

"Abbie, don't you dare," Jenny said, cutting her off. She moved one step closer to the bed and Abbie had to fight hard to keep from curling into a ball. "Crane and I can't begin to imagine what you've been through," Jenny continued. "You don't have to apologize for anything."

Ichabod moved to stand beside the bed again, but did not try to touch her in any way. He lowered himself to one knee, the hem of his soldier's coat brushing the floor. He looked at her gently, but earnestly, and Abbie felt as though his eyes were searching her soul. He was gazing at her as though she were the most beautiful woman he'd ever seen and that he would do anything for her and Abbie could not understand why she deserved such admiration.

His fingers had moved to clench the sheets of her bed and she could tell it was taking a great amount of control for him not to touch her or, even worse, pull her into his steely embrace. But his voice was forgiving and gentle when he spoke and it seemed to Abbie that he was trying to caress her with his words when his hands could not.

"Abbie, what happened in Purgatory after you returned me to the coffin? What evil did Moloch perpetrate against you?"

Tears immediately filled her eyes at his soft-spoken question and the sweet concern displayed in his eyes. She looked away, not wanting to crumble in front of Ichabod and Jenny. Bits and pieces of her time in Purgatory flashed in her mind and all the fear she had felt there swept back like a tornado, rendering her breathless. She could feel that both Crane and Jenny wanted to rush forward and hug her and it only made the internal battle she was fighting even that much harder. She felt almost suffocated by the pain of wanting to make them happy and knowing she could not. All they wanted was her love and it was the one thing forever out of her reach. The complete wretchedness of that revelation was too much to endure.

"It's not…he…Moloch…" She dissolved into tears then, doing her best to turn away from them, but her wounded shoulder would not allow much movement. Sobs wracked her body and she felt the desolation and despair threatening to devour her again. Abbie hated to admit it, but if she'd had a gun at that moment, she would have pulled the trigger and ended her torment.

"Abbie, please forgive me for distressing you," Ichabod cried, his fingers fluttering over her face and smoothing her hair. "Please let me help you."

Each touch of his fingers felt like the prick of a needle to Abbie and agony exploded in their wake. The pain ebbed a bit when he pulled his hands back, apparently having noticed her unease.

She wanted him to pull her close and hold her and allow the comfort and safety she always felt in his arms fall around her like a warm blanket. Selfishly, she almost begged him to do it. But Abbie knew that nothing good would come of it because she would not experience those emotions she remembered so fondly. She would only feel regret and sorrow as they gnawed at the battered remains of her heart and that was not fair to Ichabod. Savagely, she pushed that need down, crushing it into dust.

"You deserve…so much better…" she whispered through her tears as she looked up at him. Her relic of a heart trembled a bit, but it was merely a shadow of what once was.

"What?" Ichabod asked, dumbfounded, brow creased. "Better than what?"

Abbie took a deep breath and tried to reign in her raw emotions. She had to get herself back under control. How did she ever think she could protect Ichabod if she was a complete basket case around him every time he stood close to her?

"Better than me," she said, her voice wavering on the last word. She shook her head sadly, tears slipping down her cheeks. "There's barely anything left of me."

"Abbie, don't say that," said Jenny, stepping forward. She reached out a hand, but then must have thought better of it and let it fall to her side.

Abbie shrugged, never feeling so worthless in her entire life, and looked up at her sister. "It's true, though," she said bitterly. "Moloch made sure of it." She turned back to Crane, who looked like all the blood had drained from his face. His eyes were twin indigo mirrors of grief. She couldn't remember ever seeing him so bereft – not even the first day she met him when he didn't know when or where he was. She hated herself anew for making him look like that and causing him more hurt.

"I don't know what you see in me," she said, self-loathing laced within her words like arsenic.

A single tear fell down his cheek at her words. "I see the woman I love," he answered.

His words cut her open and she felt the agony and heartbreak slipping between the cracks, soaking down to the very marrow of her bones. "I'm not worthy of your love," she replied. "I want nothing more than for you to be happy but you'll never be happy with me. Not now."

"Abbie, don't say—"

She held up her good hand to stop him. "It's true, Crane. I'm all used up. I'd be no good to you. I promised myself that if I came back, I wouldn't hurt you. I could watch you being happy in your life and it would be enough to just be near you and make sure you were safe. But I'm breaking that promise already."

"_If_ you came back?" Ichabod repeated. "You had a choice?" he asked, his voice hushed.

"You should be with Katrina," Abbie blurted, ignoring his question. Even though she knew she was right, the words felt bitter and wrong in her mouth.

"Excuse me?" Crane asked, bewildered. "Abbie, I refuse to believe that you are sincere in that statement. You can't be…"

She choked back a sob and nodded quickly, gnawing on her bottom lip. "I am. It's pretty obvious I'm worthless like this. Look at me: injured, messed up, haunted. I'm a freak. I'm nothing."

Crane dared to inch closer to her and she could feel his breath on her cheek. "You are _everything_ to me. I cannot contemplate my life without you in it. We belong together. You _must_ know this."

A tear slipped down her cheek and she did her best to steel herself against the panic that rose within her at his nearness. If he touched her, she could only imagine the anguish that would rush through her body like a wildfire. But, even so, Abbie knew she could never be truly parted from him. She had to be near him in some way – as a guardian, of sorts. She just wasn't able to summon her love for him and he deserved better than a hollow wisp of a girl who used to care for him. He deserved someone who loved him more than her own life and she knew that Katrina did love him. How much and to what lengths were up for debate, but at least it was something.

"I'll always be right here, Crane," she said sadly, echoing her goodbye in Purgatory. "But you deserve more than a placeholder. You deserve someone who can love you without any baggage. That's not me. Moloch's made sure of it."

Crane looked at her for long moments, his eyes shining with unshed tears. She could see him trying to understand what was going on inside her. She was a puzzle he was trying to solve – the way he solved their cases. Finally, he turned his gaze to Jenny, eyebrows raised, and Abbie got the distinct impression he was asking her a question.

Jenny wiped away a tear of her own and shrugged.

Looking back to Abbie, his question apparently answered, Ichabod stood up and cleared his throat. His whole persona changed. It solidified, turning to steel. It seemed to Abbie that he was pulling the veneer of a soldier over himself as one might a mask; protecting himself. And he was giving her the distance she needed, even though she had never voiced it.

"I'm not sure what you are experiencing, Lieutenant," he said, his voice cool, but with a fervor just beneath the surface. "I do not purport to have the ability to even imagine what you suffered in Purgatory. But know this: I shall NOT return to Katrina, nor will I leave you to suffer further in isolation. I will help you through whatever is plaguing you. You are not some solitary shepherd destined to watch over me from afar. We are the Witnesses and we are meant to stand together against the apocalypse. I can feel that you need some time unaccompanied, so I will leave you now to get some rest. However, I _will_ return in a few hours and we _will_ continue our discussion."

He turned and took two steps towards the door, and Abbie watched him go, eyes wide. He stopped, suddenly, and looked back to her, his eyes full of love and adoration.

"Perhaps you do not recall this, my dear Abigail, but I carry a piece of you within me. It lays curled against my heart at all times, warming it. This piece of you has been my constant companion these last four months. You were always there when I had lost hope and needed comfort. You never abandoned me, so how can you ask me to do exactly that to you?"

Abbie was shocked that he _did_ know he carried part of her within himself. "Crane, that's not the same—"

He held up his hand to stop her. "Your words will make no difference. This vestige of you that I carry inside allows me to see who you truly are. You are far from 'nothing' and 'worthless.' You are the bravest and most beautiful woman I have ever known. It's as true here in the mortal world as it was in Purgatory. I could no more let you go than I could stop myself from breathing. You are a part of me forever and we _will_ be together again. I will not lose you to Moloch. I will help you to remember what we feel for each other or die trying."

Abbie was struck speechless. There was not one coherent thought in her mind in the face of such an epic declaration. She could almost see the love he felt for her coming off him in waves and as they cascaded over her, an answering surf of regret and despair rolled off of her. Regret, because she could overcome the agony and heartache within her to summon the love she knew she once had for him. Despair because she was terrified she would never be strong enough to defeat the curse Moloch had cast against her and that her love for Ichabod was forever lost to her.

Before she could string a few words together, he spared one more look for Jenny, and then turned back towards the door, leaving the room in a quiet whisper of coat and boots.

The moment he was gone, Jenny stepped closer to Abbie, her arms crossed. Her brow was furrowed and her eyes looked fierce. "That man loves you more than I will ever understand."

Abbie sighed. "Jenny, that's just it. You _don't_ understand—"

"Nope," Jenny said, cutting her off. "_You_ don't get it. If we hadn't found you last night, I don't know how much longer he would have lasted."

"Lasted?" Abbie repeated, confused.

"He was withering away, Abbie!" Jenny shrieked. "He spent every waking moment in the Archives trying to find a way to save you. He barely slept and only ate if I made him. There were days he could barely stand up straight. He was totally lost without you. Every night – every _damn_ night – he would go and sit under those stupid bleachers at the baseball field because he said he felt closer to you there. He said he could 'talk' to the part of you he has inside better there, whatever the hell that meant. I'd have to go find him and force him into your Jeep and take him home. That's why we were there last night. I looked after him because I thought it was what _you_ would have wanted me to do!"

Jenny shook her head, expelling an angry breath. "You can't do this to him. You can't just brush him aside because you think it's for the best. I don't know what happened in Purgatory or what Moloch has you believing, but Crane loves you and he's not just going to walk away and into Katrina's arms."

Abbie shook her head sadly. Jenny didn't know what Moloch had stolen from her. She didn't know that when she gave Ichabod that part of her, she'd lost her ability to love or feel anything good. She was lost in a dense forest of grief, pain, despair and anguish, with razor-sharp thorns blocking the way to the petrified remains of her heart. In her mind, the only right thing – the only _honest_ thing – was to push Ichabod towards someone who _could_ love him. She had to at least give him a chance at happiness. She would forever be his friend, but trying to be anything more was only fooling herself and cheating him. Just attempting friendship would probably be the death of her.

"_There is _**always **_another way…_"

Her own words echoed back to her by Crane when she had told him she was staying in Purgatory the first time flashed in her mind. She had told him their destiny was to sacrifice themselves so humanity could endure and she had been ready to do just that. Even as he had held her and vowed to return for her, she knew it would never happen. She knew she would never be freed from Purgatory and that Crane would never come back. But then…he had. When she'd been at her lowest and so, so close to giving in to Moloch, Crane had reappeared in Purgatory, ready to stay by her side, as always.

If there _was_ another way out of this mess, then maybe out of all of the people in the world, he was the only one who could find it.

Abbie only hoped she could hold on long enough for him to find it.


End file.
